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rebelwrites · 4 years

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Date Disaster

Jax Teller x Reader

A/N so I think everyone that’s read Dating Advice asked for a part two, so here we go

“Now remember I’m only a text away okay” Jax said as you fastened your helmet up.

“Nothing is gonna go wrong Jackie boy” you laughed looking over at him.

“Just saying” he shrugged “all you gotta do is text and I will be there”

“Riiigggght” you rolled your eyes “can I go now or you just gonna keep assuming it’s gonna go wrong”

“Nah you can go” he shrugged “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do”

“Pfft that gives me plenty of things to do then” you giggled starting your engine “I will be back later”

Jax watched as you rode out of the lot, he did some digging on this Trent dude and he didn’t know what you saw in him, like he was on the straight and narrow, never even got a ticket and was a rich fucker which was all daddy’s money.

“Please tell me ye haven’t done anything Jackie boy” Chibs said offering Jax a smoke.

“Why would you think I’ve done anything?” Jax asked, raising his brow.

“A know you’ve done a background check on him and A know ye like her so” Chibs smirked.

“I’ve honestly done nothing but I have a feeling I will end up saving the night” Jax shrugged.

Pulling into the parking lot of the restaurant, caused you to get some funny looks, along with the reaper emblem on the back of your leather jacket. Parking your bike you took your helmet off shaking your hair out.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Trent walking over to you.

“If I would have known you’d come on your bike I would have picked you up” he said putting you on edge a bit as you climbed off your bike adjusting your dress.

Thank god you remembered to wear your gym shorts underneath.

“It’s fine don’t worry about it” you smiled hoping that he wasn’t judgemental.

As soon as you sat down you ordered a whisky where he ordered a bottle of red wine.

“You not having wine, sweetheart?” He asked.

“I don’t actually like it” you laughed “more whiskey, beer and hard liquor”

“Right” he said, glancing up from the menu. “So tell me a bit more about yourself?”

“I mean you know the basics from texting but I’m very family oriented, like I’d do anything for them even if they aren’t blood” you smiled as you scanned the menu for what you wanted.

Where were the chicken nuggets? The burgers? The kebabs?

Before he could answer the waitress arrived.

“I will take the sea bass and my good lady will take the chicken salad” Trent said flashing the waitress a smile.

You didn’t even want a pissing salad.

“So what do you do for work?” He asked sipping his wine.

“I’m a mechanic” you said proudly “I do a lot around the garage”

“Don’t you want to achieve more?” He asked.

“I enjoy what I do” you shrugged “i love my cars and bikes and quite often we will head to the track for the day and race”

As you were talking you felt his eyes burning into your arm, obviously trying to get a better look at the tattoo on the inside of your arm.

“I actually got this when I was 17” you smiled moving your arm so he could see the ink “my uncle did it for my birthday”

“And it’s a reaper” he sighed

“Is that a problem?” You asked sipping your whiskey.

“I just didn’t expect you to have it tattooed, or arrive on a bike and I saw the reaper on the back of your leather jacket” Trent said with a disapproving look. “Like I’ve heard stories about the sons of anarchy and non are which are good”

“Okay” you said resting your hand on your fist, just hoping he hadn’t ran a background check on you, because he would know you did a stretch in Stockton when you covered for the club.

“I also know you have a criminal record” he said.

“Honestly I don’t see why that is an issue with it” you shrugged.

“Hmmm” he nodded.

“Excuse me” you said “I’m just going to the bathroom”

Walking away from the table, you couldn’t believe it, like you had never met anyone so judgemental as him.

Leaning against the counter in the bathroom, you felt so out of place in this restaurant, pulling your phone out you stared at Jax’s name in your phone contemplating texting him.

📲 to Jackieboy🖤😈

- 🆘

�� from Jackieboy🖤😈

- say no more on my way be with you in 15, will call you when I’m outside, just play along x

Sliding your phone back into your purse you went to join Trent again, who was on the phone, as you got closer he was talking business, not even realising you were back.

Your salad had been placed in front of you making you scoff, it was half a chicken breast, some carrot, shredded beetroot and a few leaves of lettuce. Taking a picture of it as proof of what he ordered for you. Picking at the chicken you were just waiting on your phone ringing.

After another 10 minutes you felt it going off in your purse.

“Sorry I’m gonna have to take this” you nodded, placing your fork down.

“You know I’m on a date right?” You laughed.

“Told you, you’d end up calling me” Jax said a smirk evident in this voice.

“Wait what please tell me you are joking right?”

“I’m outside now”

“Shit, I’m on my way” you sighed ending the call.

“I am so sorry, I am going to have to go, my grandpa has been rushed into hospital” you whispered, making your bottom lip quiver.

“Oh I hope he’s okay” Trent said looking up from his phone.

“Urm thanks, it’s been nice” you nodded slipping your jacket on.

“Maybe another time?” He asked making you want to laugh.

“Maybe, sorry I really need to go” you said pretty much running out of the restaurant.

Glancing around you saw Jax sat on his bike at the start of the drive, climbing on your bike you slowly rode up to him, placing a smoke between your lips you smiled at him.

“How did you know I’d text you?” You asked as you rested your head on his shoulder as you picked at the nuggets you brought before heading to the hills.

“Just had a feeling I guess, I know his type” Jax whispered.

“Yeah the prick ordered for me” you laughed “and he ordered a fucking salad”

“God no” Jax laughed as he watched you dunk the chicken nugget in the sauce before taking the whole thing in your mouth.

“Uh huh the bastard fed me rabbit food” you said with a mouthful of nugget “like do I look like a fucking rabbit”

“So no second date then?” Jax laughed kissing the top of your head.

“I’d rather do a stint in Stockton again or get shot than go out with that prick again” you laughed looking up at Jax.

“Good to hear darlin’” Jax smirked “like I said maybe the person you are destined to be with is sat right with you”

It was at that point you choked on your drink.

“What” you said slightly out of breath as Jax just smiled at you.

“Why do you think I didn’t add anything when you asked for advice, it’s because I didn’t want you going on the date” He said resting his hand on your cheek.

“Jax” you breathed

“Darlin’ I’ve been dropping hints for the last six months that I really like you” he smirked.

“I just thought you were messing with me” you whispered as you looked into his eyes.

“Nah not messing with you babe” he smiled leaning closer to you “I know you have had a crush on me since school, I mean you told me so the night we got blackout drunk and you woke up with no memories of the night before”

“Well I feel like an idiot now” you said feeling rather embarrassed.

“So can I kiss you now or what?” He grinned resting his forehead against yours, his breath tickling your skin.

“Yeah” you whispered as you wrapped your arms around his neck as he pulled you onto his lap before pressing his lips against yours.

Your lips moved in sync, the feeling you got was something you had never felt before, it was like you were flying as your tongue explored each other’s mouths.

Pulling away, you rested your forehead against his, your grin was so wide, and you felt like a teenager again.

“This date is so much better” you whispered against his lips whilst playing with his hair.

“It better be or I’m not kissing you again” he smirked “I know I’m not a rich kid but I can offer you so much more than that prick can babygirl”

SOA TAGLIST

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#jax teller fanfiction #jax teller imagine #jax teller x reader #jax teller #sons of anarchy

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unjourjeseraideretourpresdetoi · 3 years

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9/10 Chapter 1 - Malt

I started writing a bit of a Harry/Kim fanfic??? Because why the hell not. Anyway, here’s the first part of it. I’m kind of just making it up as I go with a few specific ideas scattered in my head. Spoilers for various plot points. Here’s a sample before the cut. Feel free to send any suggestions or critique, since it’s been ages since I have done much writing. Still working on getting a feel for Harry’s skill voices.

YOU — After a little while, your voice finally returns. “Why are you so nice to me?” KIM KITSURAGI — He takes a long pause and leans back in his chair. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just stubborn too.” PERCEPTION — You turn to look at him as you finally untangle yourself from your chrysalis of arms, and he looks different somehow. You don’t know if it’s your eyes being sore as hell, or the dull ambiance of the hazy bar lights. Somehow, he looks so light. His bomber jacket is slightly pulled up by his folded arms behind his head, seeming to break the bulky illusion it usually projects over his slim torso. Like suddenly seeing a gap in a suit of armor. SUGGESTION — You should tickle him. ESPRIT DE CORPS — He will kill you in mere seconds if you do that.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — Hello again, Harry boy. The midnight train to Fuck-All-Borough is boarding once again, and you’ve pre-paid your seat. YOU — Okay. ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — Yes, that’s right. Let’s drive right into the sweet, succulent sopor of oblivion. Let no feelings come to pass, no sensations, just the pure bliss of the radiating void. YOU — But aren’t you here? ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — That’s just it, Harry. I’m nothing. I am the pale of the mind, I am the deafening silence, I am the black canvas that stretches taut when you close your eyes. I am the swaddle that cradles the mind and the ocean you will drown in. I am born of you and someday, you will die in me. LIMBIC SYSTEM — But not yet—something still stirs in this weighted sack. Something heavy, and sore, and full of noise that steadily rises into a crescendo.

PERCEPTION — And then you open your eyes. And it fucking hurts. PAIN THRESHOLD — Dear god, it’s like a jackhammer on a pogo stick on another jackhammer. PERCEPTION — You realize there’s a smell you haven’t smelled in a few weeks now that’s uncomfortably emanating from your form. Al Gul. COMPOSURE — Oh. You finally did it again. You fucked up.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — So we got a little smashed. Who cares. You know what’s a great way to stop feeling sorry about it? Getting smashed again. AUTHORITY — No. YOU — Why am I always fucking things up? HALF LIGHT — Because life is terrifying. LOGIC — He’s right about that one.

YOU — What was I doing last night? ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Like I said, getting smashed. CONCEPTUALIZATION — Painting the world with a palette of sugary booze and sad, old rock and roll for sad, old rockstars.

YOU — Who did I hurt this time? DRAMA — Mostly, just yourself. VOLITION — A small miracle, if so. You’re used to self-immolation. YOU — But why? Why now? We were doing better. ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Speak for yourself. LOGIC — You do know that you can’t just ride out two decades of practiced chemical drowning on a workhorse of piety and guilt, right?

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — This ceaseless dependency on cocktails of narcotics and spirits has weakened you shamefully. PERCEPTION — You look around your dimly lit bedroom, eyes half-closed anyway to quiet the searing pain in your cerebral cortex, slowly putting the pieces back together as the rest of your body wakes up.

YOU — I was having a shitty day. I was stuck on a case and my mind just kept drifting into half-remembered past mistakes. After work, I decided to do it. I called her again, like an idiot. I thought to myself, I can do this, I can let her go, and I’ll tell her I’m finally over it (almost). INLAND EMPIRE — But that is not how it went. She had prepared for the next time you would call. The last time was terrifying enough, torn awake at 3 in the morning, listening to your desperate lies, digging through past trauma.

YOU — “Hey, uh, Dora. It’s Harry. I’m sorry—“ PERCEPTION — A sharp sigh breaks your concentration. DORA — “Let me stop you there, Harry. Because I’m tired of this. You’ve been doing this six years now but it feels at least twice as long. So since you can’t put an end to it, I am. Don’t call again. You won’t be reaching me at this number anymore.” PERCEPTION — Before you can react, there’s silence. And a dial tone. YOU — Fuck. Fuck shit fuck.

COMPOSURE — You stumble through dialing the number again, fingers slipping the first time from nerves and connecting the second, with no answer. You try again. And again. And then you stop trying. It takes everything in you not to smash the phone where it sits. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — You need to smash something. If we can’t smash the phone, we HAVE to smash something. REACTION SPEED — Your feet are already taking you away from the pay phone, one thought ahead of the rest of you. You barely round the corner into the alley before you plant your fist full force into the nearest brick wall. PAIN THRESHOLD — Your hand spirals into a fractal of pain, blood dripping down your busted knuckles, slowly running down the dirtied wall. You can feel the cracking of your knuckles, like a brittle lacework of glass strapped down only by the leather of your worn-out hands. HALF-LIGHT — Get out of here. ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Now that you’re done smashing your fist, it’s time to get the rest of you smashed. YOU — “Fuck it. I’m getting a drink.”

CONCEPTUALIZATION — From there, it was a blaze of sweet, hot fire down your throat and back up again, run ragged from shitty karaoke and mild alcohol poisoning. But the film reel is running thin, and you’re struggling to get anything else from your memory bank.

YOU — How did I get back? I don’t remember walking home. ESPRIT DE CORPS — You asked for help.

HAND-EYE COORDINATION — You pat at your pockets, searching for the right one, not quite remembering what you’re doing but knowing the answer you thought of for a fraction of a second is somewhere in there. After a moment, you find it, carefully tucked away but nevertheless damp with sweat from your slacks.

“If you need to talk— 005-93-88-651 Lt. Kitsuragi”

INTERFACING — Your hands are a bit shaky, but you dial out the number on the slip of paper in your hands. PERCEPTION — It rings once. Twice. A third time. And then you hear the receiver click. KIM KITSURAGI — “Hello?”

SHIVERS — In a small apartment in Central Jamrock, not too far from Precinct 41, and not too far from the Jamrock Public Library, Lieutenant Kitsuragi sits on his bed, some light reading in hand, winding down for the night. His new apartment is still filled with cardboard boxes here and there, in no particular hurry to be unpacked. The lights of the city pierce through like little pinpricks in the glare of his bedside window, still insistent on their presence even in the quiet of a cool spring night.

YOU — “Hi, Kim, I uh…” Your voice shakes and you lose your words for a moment, because some part of you really didn’t expect him to pick up. KIM KITSURAGI — “Detective? It’s after midnight.” DRAMA — It’s already that late? You must’ve woken him up. A bad start. YOU — “Uhh… sorry, I uh. Wasn’t looking at the clock. We can just talk tomorrow—“ KIM KITSURAGI — “You’re drunk.” COMPOSURE — Fuck. There’s nothing coming out of your mouth anymore. Another bad phone call. It takes everything in you not to cry. You do anyway.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Where are you?” YOU — You manage to croak out enough to say “Sunshine’s Hideaway. Bar on 12th street.” KIM KITSURAGI — He pauses a moment, thinking. “...I’ll be there in a few minutes.” ESPRIT DE CORPS — He’s thinking about the best route there. LOGIC — He doesn’t have his motor carriage right now. He’s going to have to walk it, and it’s cold out. YOU — “I… you don’t have to do that, I’ll just—“ KIM KITSURAGI — “Harrier, just shut up and park your ass somewhere warm until I get there.” AUTHORITY — He’s doing it! He’s doing the eyebrow thing but on the phone! I didn’t know he could do that! YOU — “Yessir.”

It probably takes about 15 minutes for him to arrive, though each minute feels like five. You feel like a child waiting for their parents to come pick them up at school. You’re pretty sure everyone is staring at you. You can’t really see through the blurry bokeh of your stupid tears. But you can just barely make out the door of the bar opening, followed by a silhouette marked by orange slipping through. Lieutenant Kitsuragi spots you after a moment, and you quickly try to wipe your eyes like you haven’t just been crying the whole time as he approaches. KIM KITSURAGI — You can hear him pull at the chair next to yours, calmly settling into place. “Hello, detective.”

YOU — You try to pull up some words, but you just find yourself nodding appreciatively as you try not to grimace. COMPOSURE — Somehow, the moment his eyes fall on you, you feel like someone just ripped the rug right out from under your feet. You slide down on your elbows, face pressing down onto the table in humiliation, locking your hands together on the back of your neck, like you’re trying to hide in a little tomb of your own arms.

KIM KITSURAGI — You hear the lieutenant take a deep breath and sigh. He unzips his jacket, stifling him in the warm interior of the bar. “That rough, huh?”

YOU — You don’t want to say anything, but your mouth opens before you can stop it. “I’m such an asshole, Kim. I keep fucking everything up, over and over, no matter how hard I try. I just. Keep falling back into my bullshit.” Your voice shakes as you get the words out. “Is this just as good as it’s gonna get at this point? Have I fucked up entirely too much, entirely too long, am I just… this constant trainwreck now and forever? How much of myself have I wasted away into nothing, doing this shit? Acting like a child. Acting like an animal. It feels sometimes like all I have is more downturns. More hurting people. More hurting myself. And I’m so, so fucking tired… and I don’t wanna do this anymore. If this is how it is, I don’t want to… be.” Your voice stops making any noise by the time you reach the end of that.

HALF-LIGHT — And then there’s silence. You know this silence. It’s the sound of someone deciding they’re sick of your shit. This is the moment he realizes he really, truly does not know you and you don’t know him. And he knows he has to get out of here, before you take him down with you, like you’ve done to so many others. EMPATHY — But then there’s a hard pat on your back. Thumping against a hollow drum, ringing through your electrified lungs. KIM KITSURAGI — “It’s okay, detective.” PERCEPTION — His voice is soft and careful.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Honestly, it’s astonishing you’ve held out this long. It’s barely been two months since Martinaise. Since the Whirling. Throughout my time in the RCM, I have seen many good officers break over less. I didn’t know you before March. I don’t really know what kind of officer you might’ve been before that. But who I am familiar with is the Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor Harrier Du Bois, the officer I met two months ago, who is probably the strangest man I’ve ever met, but he is also the most relentless, the most stubborn, the most annoying, and honestly, the most sincere man I’ve ever known to grace the RCM. He is a man who cares enough to find the time in his busy workload to help people he just met, whose troubles he sniffs out like a bloodhound, offering them the help that no one else would. No matter how trivial, or how complicated. I don’t know if this selflessness is something you picked up because you don’t know how to help yourself, but I do know there’s a real effort in there. There’s a real, true love for the people of Revachol. And I know how much this job takes out of people. You can’t turn every mistake around in just a few months. Probably not even a few years. But I think what matters is that you are trying, and I can see how much it hurts you to feel like you’ve failed in that. Please don’t think that tonight is a sign that you can’t do better. Tonight is a dam breaking in the expectations you’ve built up for yourself after staring down your own potential.”

PERCEPTION — Are you laughing? Or is that crying? INLAND EMPIRE — It feels like there are ghosts escaping your every breath. Like parts of you are desperately rushing to the surface, tearing through flesh and bone, clawing at a chance for freedom. The lieutenant’s arm still rests heavily on your back, the only anchor your spirit has left as it dissipates into vapor and rushes through the night.

VOLITION — You cry until there’s nothing left in you anymore.

KIM KITSURAGI — After a moment, he realizes you’re staring at him, then adjusts in his seat, leaning forward and settling his arms in front of him. “How are you feeling? Do you think you can walk?” YOU — “I uhh... probably. My leg doesn’t hurt as much right now.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Mm.” He mutters, getting up from his seat. “At least there is that small grace. How far is your place?” PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — You’re pretty sure he’s offering to walk you back. You’re not a child, you can get home perfectly fine on your own, thank you. YOU — “Ten blocks.” COMPOSURE — You quickly try to rise to your feet, but it becomes immediately apparent that the floor has been replaced with a rickety old carousel, and you promptly lose your footing. REACTION SPEED — Before you can even attempt to figure out what is happening, you realize that Lieutenant Kitsuragi has wrapped one of his arms around your back. PERCEPTION — His grip is tight and you can feel the muscles tensing in his forearm against your back. Once again, its presence stabilizes you, a beacon for your twisting senses to converge upon. It takes a few moments for everything to slot back into the correct place. KIM KITSURAGI — “Are you sure you’re alright, detective?” DRAMA — His concern is quite sincere. YOU — “I just gotta sleep this off.” You say as you steady yourself back upright.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Let’s get going, then.” He nods to you as he zips up his jacket again, then stretches his right arm out behind your back. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — No, dude, fuck that shit, you’re sick of people propping you up because of your stupid leg, we can do this shit on our own! YOU — “Thanks.” You steady yourself against his arm and extend your left against his back as well. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Hey, what! DRAMA — By now, the lieutenant knows when you’re just trying to bullshit and act like a tough guy. It’s time to drop the act, for now. He knows you need the help. You wouldn’t have called him if you didn’t.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — That’s all I got. The rest is just black. YOU — Ugghhhhhh damn it. Like Kim hasn’t seen enough of me making an ass of myself by now. EMPATHY — On the bright side, his mental image of you can probably only improve. Hopefully. Maybe. YOU — Whatever. What time is it? PERCEPTION — You look around for your alarm clock, and find it knocked onto the floor beside your bed. It says 9:53. YOU — Shit. Did I have work today? ESPRIT DE CORPS — No. Your hours have been temporarily reduced during your recovery period. YOU — Right. Okay. I should probably get up and do something about this headache.

You throw the blanket off of your body and gradually roll yourself out of bed, bones creaking with aches and pains, limping across the room and dodging various discarded clothes and shoes that litter the floor. You twist the doorknob and open your bedroom door, making your way across the living room, towards the bathroom.

REACTION SPEED — Wait! There’s someone… on the couch? PERCEPTION — A figure of a man lies on the couch, covered with an ugly patchwork blanket, still sleeping. Next to the couch, an orange bomber jacket rests. Wait… is that Kim? HALF-LIGHT — OH MY GOD, you’re half-naked, GET BACK IN YOUR ROOM AND PUT YOUR PANTS ON BEFORE YOU HUMILIATE YOURSELF. SAVOIR FAIRE — You quickly backpedal, trying not to make any noise, and press your door shut firmly, hoping that you weren’t noticed. YOU — Why is he here??? I thought he just walked me home? HALF-LIGHT — Stop thinking and get your damn armor on! VOLITION — Armor? We didn’t find any armor pants in Martinaise. DRAMA — He’s being metaphorical. You hurriedly stuff your legs into the closest pair of semi-clean trousers before peeking out the door again.

PERCEPTION — The lieutenant is still asleep on the couch. SAVOIR FAIRE — Alright, go time. You sneak through the living room and into the bathroom, carefully trying not to creak the medicine cabinet as you get yourself some painkillers. ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Down the whole bottle! Party time! VOLITION — No. We are not doing that.

After taking the recommended dose of painkillers, you peek out into the living room again. PERCEPTION — Lieutenant Kitsuragi is still resting quietly on your couch, lying on his back, tightly wrapped in the ugly spare blanket from your linen closet. You suddenly realize there’s something different about the living room… such as, there’s less garbage everywhere. EMPATHY — Did he clean the room up for you? Or maybe for himself?

You exit the bathroom and slowly cross the living room, stopping halfway through, looking at the lieutenant again. PERCEPTION — He looks peaceful, and his face relaxed and still. With his glasses off, you notice more of the shape of his brow and his tired eyes. His breathing is slow and measured, with quiet sighs. One of his arms dangles out from under the blanket, his hand just barely off the floor. His fingers are thin, bony, weathered from work, with little scars and blemishes that have mostly faded away.

SUGGESTION — Hold it.

YOU — What?

No one replies. You stare for a moment, feeling a tension in your chest. Curiosity snakes through your skin. You step closer towards the couch, then slowly crouch down, meeting the lieutenant’s eye level.

SUGGESTION — Hold it. Please.

You reach forward, and the lieutenant suddenly stirs.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Mmnh…” His eyes flutter open. “Oh, good morning detective.” YOU — “Uh, yeah. Good morning.” You casually withdraw your hand and rest it on your leg. “Why are you here…?” KIM KITSURAGI — “You don’t remember?” He asks with a hint of concern. YOU — “Well, mostly. I remember you helped me walk home, but after that, it’s fuzzy.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Ah, so just the normal amount of alcohol-induced forgetfulness.” The lieutenant nods at you, then sits up on the couch. He reaches for his glasses on the side table, then folds them open. “I decided to stay here on the couch, just in case...” He trails off. EMPATHY — To keep an eye on you. In case you started doing worse.

YOU — “...Thanks. I’m sorry for interrupting your night.” KIM KITSURAGI — “No need to apologize,” he says with a slight smile. “Honesty, I’m… glad you asked for help instead of isolating yourself. That would have been…” He pauses, looking for the correct words. “Not ideal. What time is it, anyway?” YOU — “Bit after 10.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Already that late? Good thing I’m not working today.”

YOU — “Sorry to make you clean up after me.” You say, glancing across the room. KIM KITSURAGI — “Well, no, it’s not your fault or anything. You didn’t expect company.” He seems a bit self-conscious suddenly, looking away. “I suppose it’s more like I don’t know how to leave a mess alone.” SUGGESTION — You’re not sure which mess he means—the apartment, or you. EMPATHY — It’s both. You feel a slight embarrassment tingling across the surface of your skin and decide to change the topic.

YOU — “You said you have the day off?” KIM KITSURAGI — “Yes, I have a few errands to run, part of some loose ends to clean up for my transfer to 41. But I can get those done any time during the day.” SUGGESTION — You should— YOU — “Do you wanna go get breakfast? I know a good place down the street.” You say it before you can even finish thinking. KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant sits quietly for a moment, adjusting his glasses. “Hmmm… sure, why the hell not. I’ve got some time to spare.” SUGGESTION — Jackpot! YOU — “I’m gonna go get dressed, you’re welcome to the bathroom if you need it.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Sounds good.”

You walk into your bedroom and shut the door behind you.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — Time to get stylish! LOGIC — Not that stylish, it’s just breakfast. Don’t make it weird. INLAND EMPIRE — Hey, weird is our thing! YOU — I think I’m just gonna wear whatever’s clean and doesn’t smell repulsive. CONCEPTUALIZATION — Oh, sorry, didn’t know we were Boring Cop today.

After taking a quick glance at what’s available, you decide to just go with a simple, pastel gingham button-up and a fresh pair of jeans. Glancing at your coats, you grab a blue blazer with a checkered lining.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Oh my god you look like a nerd. RHETORIC — No, he looks smart. Ready to have a battle of the wits. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Yeah, like I said, A NERD!

You quietly ignore the high school bullying going on inside your head as you exit the room. Lieutenant Kitsuragi glances at you from next to the couch, in the middle of putting on his jacket.

KIM KITSURAGI — “No disco today?” He says with a slight smile. YOU — “All my disco’s due for the wash.” KIM KITSURAGI — He tugs at his collar and settles his jacket into place. “It’s almost odd to see you in something so… tame.” YOU — “I mean, I still got the jackets from Fuck the World and Piss F****t if you change your mind.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Somehow I doubt the waitstaff would be understanding of the artist’s statements at breakfast.” He lets out a small chuckle. EMPATHY — There’s a surprising softness in his response. KIM KITSURAGI — “I’m all set to go if you are.”

The two of you head out of your apartment and set out down the road, your destination just two blocks away. The streets of Jamrock are already lively with pedestrians and motor carriages milling about. Before long, you arrive at a staircase with a weathered, striped canopy hanging above, quietly announcing its presence with simple text saying “The Lazy Daisy”. You and the lieutenant head down the stairs and enter the little eatery, pushing past the door and being met with the sweet and salty smells of this morning’s meals. You wave to the waitress and take a seat at a little table in the corner.

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant takes his seat across from you, his eyes studying the surroundings. “You know, I never noticed this place before.” YOU — “Yeah, it’s easy to miss amongst all the other businesses on this road.” KIM KITSURAGI — “But you remembered it?” YOU — “I think my feet did.”

WAITRESS — A cheerful, pudgy woman in her forties wearing a striped apron walks over to the table, little menu books in hand. “Good morning officers! Thanks for stopping by the Lazy Daisy today. Can I get you something to drink while you look over the menu?”

YOU — “You wanna get a pot of coffee, Kim?” KIM KITSURAGI — “Sure, that sounds fine.” WAITRESS — “Alright, I’ll give you a moment to look over the menu!”

You already know what you’re going to order: skillet hash with a side of toast. You watch the lieutenant look the menu over and find yourself wondering what he’ll order. YOU — “You seem like an Eggs Benedict kind of guy to me.” KIM KITSURAGI — “I was thinking about trying this malted waffle actually. It’s been a while since I had a good waffle.” He replies, not looking up from the menu. “But you are correct, I do enjoy a good Eggs Benedict.”

YOU — “Can’t go wrong with either one.” WAITRESS — The waitress returns, a full pot of coffee in one hand and two mugs in the other. She gently places the pot of coffee at the center of the little table and places the mugs down on either side. “Alright, so what can I get for you boys?” YOU — “I’ll go for the skillet hash with a side of dry toast. And the lieutenant here…” KIM KITSURAGI — “I’ll take a malted waffle with a side of bacon.” WAITRESS — “Sounds great! I’ll bring it out when it’s ready.”

You turn your attention to the coffee and partially fill both of the mugs, absent-mindedly adding a sugar cube and a little cup of half-and-half to yours and stirring, watching the color spread and blend. You look up and notice the lieutenant surveying the restaurant again.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Hmmm… yes, this place certainly seems your style.” YOU — “What, sad and old?” KIM KITSURAGI — He smiles slightly, but his brow betrays his discomfort. “No, I was thinking more along the lines of… eclectic, stubborn, lively.” He glances at the walls covered in various posters, art, and rock and roll memorabilia. YOU — “Disco.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Disco.” He nods affirmatively.

You absently stir your coffee and lift it to your mouth to take a sip, mulling over topics of conversation. RHETORIC — Go for a standard sort of icebreaker, what’s the latest with him, that sort of thing. ESPRIT DE CORPS — Let’s talk work. Trade some gritty case stories with him! INTERFACING — Maybe you could talk torque dork to torque dork? EMPATHY — Neither of you have motor carriages right now. That would just be a bummer. INLAND EMPIRE — Ask him to tell you a secret! AUTHORITY — That one never works.

YOU — “You just moved into your new place, right Kim? How is it?” KIM KITSURAGI — “Hmm, it’s not bad. I had to make a few concessions but… there’s a bit more floor space than my last place. I finally have a good space for a proper desk.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Now the only trouble is getting a desk up three flights of stairs.”

YOU — “I can lend you a hand with that if you want. I have reason to suspect I may be a former gym teacher.” PERCEPTION — You can’t really hear it, but judging by the steam rolling away from the mug at his lips, you can tell the lieutenant let a light chuckle out through his nose before taking another sip of coffee.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Maybe I’ll take you up on that when I find something suitable.” RHETORIC — Great job! Look at you! You’re so good at talking like a normal person!

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant casually withdraws his notebook from his jacket and starts perusing it while he slowly sips his coffee. YOU — “Hey, no working until we’ve had breakfast.” KIM KITSURAGI — He barely moves, glancing upwards at you and cocking an eyebrow. AUTHORITY — It’s fine, that brow is only operating at about 25% capacity. You got this. YOU — “Take a break, lieutenant.” You place your hand on top of his, gently encouraging him to lower the notebook onto the table. He nonchalantly relents, quickly withdrawing his hand and tucking it under his other arm, which rests casually on the table. His glance wanders away from you and out towards the windows. EMPATHY — It’s hard to tell if he’s annoyed or just playing up indifference. Perhaps you shouldn’t have grabbed his hand like that.

You take a moment to look around the restaurant, passively taking in the surroundings that feel intensely familiar to your instincts, but strangely recent to the rest of you. It’s a weird feeling, one you’ve been experiencing just about everywhere you go in Jamrock. Places that you know but have never seen. Drifting shadows of the person you once were, and still are, half-buried in a haze. Your head fluctuates in the pressure, a mix of pristine images just out of reach and faint illusions gripped tightly in your palm.

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant’s low voice suddenly pulls you back to reality. “Everything alright, detective?” INLAND EMPIRE — There is a hole in my brain. YOU — “Yeah, sorry. Just thinking about the usual.” You pause, contemplating your next words. “Grinding the bourgeoisie into sausage for the proletariat and whatnot,” you lie. KIM KITSURAGI — “Ah, so nice of you to join us, Comrade Mazov.” YOU — You quickly bust out your trusty finger guns and fire off two shots, clicking your tongue as you snap your fingers. KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant is unphased by your reckless discharge of live rounds that undoubtedly rain chaos upon the once peaceful restaurant. DRAMA — C’mon, he probably thinks it’s at least a little cool. EMPATHY — It’s not, man.

RHETORIC — Let’s get back to the list. What else can we talk about? YOU — “Tell me a secret about yourself.” KIM KITSURAGI — He sighs. “This again?” YOU — “You know it.” KIM KITSURAGI — He pauses for a moment. “No.” YOU — “Aww, come on.” KIM KITSURAGI — He raises one eyebrow. AUTHORITY — Oh god, we have full capacity brow-raising. I repeat, full capacity!

KIM KITSURAGI — His brow lowers slightly, offering a challenge. “You’re terrible at keeping secrets. Maybe if you can think of a single piece of personal trivia you haven’t already divulged entirely unprompted to any random passerby, we can come back to this topic.” ESPRIT DE CORPS — He does not believe that his terms can be met. He is secure in that. SUGGESTION — Challenge accepted! YOU — “Deal.” DRAMA — You’re gonna need to work on this for like, at least 8 hours probably. Maybe more like 20.

WAITRESS — The same woman reappears with a tray in hand, radiating the unmistakable smell of hot, fresh breakfast. “Here you are, sirs!” She gently slides the plates in front of each of you. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need! Enjoy your food!” PERCEPTION — You notice the name on her apron: Denice. YOU — “Thanks, Denice.” WAITRESS — She offers a polite smile before leaving.

You immediately start digging in, shoveling the mixed bits of potato, egg, bacon, and cheese into your mouth, savoring the salt and fat of a hearty breakfast. It’s your favorite meal, but you don’t always have the time or energy to get anything decent most mornings.

SUGGESTION — Hey, I just had a great idea! Offer Kim some of this shit. YOU — You finish the bite you have in your mouth quickly. “Hey, Kim, you wanna try some of mine?” KIM KITSURAGI — He blinks. “No, thank you. I’ve got plenty here.” He looks down at the colossal waffle on his plate, barely dented. YOU — “Yeah but this is like, stupid good. I’ll even let you have some egg yolk.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Very generous of you.�� He smirks, then studies your plate for a moment. “Hm… sure, why not.”

You slide your plate a bit closer to him. He holds his fork up, surveying for the ideal sample size. Then, he strikes, claiming an entire egg for himself.

YOU — “Woooow.” You feign offence. KIM KITSURAGI — “Sorry, detective. I’ll need to confiscate this. I believe it may be connected to a case I’m working on.” He tries to keep a straight face but the corner of his mouth is slightly turned upwards. In seconds, he files the evidence into his mouth and promptly destroys it.

YOU — “Can’t believe the corruption I am witnessing here.” In a counter-attack, you jab your fork into one of the untouched corners of the lieutenant’s waffle. KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant stabs his knife down across from your fork, as if ready to engage in combat. He stares you down, brows furrowed with the illusion of authority. “Detective, I would tread carefully if I were you. You have entered enemy territory, and I have the high ground.”

PERCEPTION — You can feel your face turning red in the heat of the incredibly stupid breakfast battle you have entered. AUTHORITY — Do it! Let loose the dogs of war! Get that fucking waffle! KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant narrows his eyes at you, his concentration unwavering. The authority levels are building in his brow. They are charged to 50% capacity. DRAMA — I have an idea, sire.

YOU — You relax back in your seat, looking behind Kim. “Oh, hey Captain Pryce, here to enjoy the best breakfast in Central Jamrock?” KIM KITSURAGI — He quickly turns his head to look behind him. SAVOIR FAIRE — In an instant, you slice a corner of the waffle free from Kim’s plate, casually sliding it onto yours. KIM KITSURAGI — Realizing the feint, he snaps his attention back to you, glaring.

YOU — You pull your plate back, then pick up your mug, gesturing towards the lieutenant with a slight smirk. “Truce?” KIM KITSURAGI — Studying you for a moment, he reluctantly picks up his mug and clinks it against yours. “For now.”

#disco elysium #de spoilers #disco elysium spoilers #fanfic #koko fic #de fanfic

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dorevenge · 3 years

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where ignorance is bliss - chapter 1

SUMMARY: Maria Collins Carbonell is a young woman in a man's world, fresh out of college and ready to take on the '60s with Obadiah Stane on her arm, until she meets an older and mysterious Howard Stark - who's on his way to change the world, and he wants to take her with him. [AO3 LINK] Rated Teen

CHAPTERS: [1] 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 ☆

PAIRINGS: Maria/Howard, Maria/Obadiah, Peggy/Daniel, Edwin/Ana, Carol/Maria

… Where ignorance is bliss,

Tis folly to be wise

– Thomas Gray, 1742

If you ever met Howard Stark, you only knew half of the man.

He was lauded as a genius, a gamechanger in every field, a philanthropist for tomorrow, the best of humankind – yet he managed to be the worst of it at the same time.

I met him at a casino in ‘60, charmed and overpowered after losing millions for the thrill of it, and we married shortly after. It was the beginning of the last twenty years of my life.

September 17, 1959 – Queens, New York City

“Obie, dear, we’re going to be late.”

“Darling, it’s check in four. Entertain me for just a few more minutes.”

“Chess minutes are longer than normal minutes, and being late in normal minutes makes Giulietta mad.” My eyes flash across the board, and the moves come to me. Hovering my fingers above the pieces, “I move my rook here, you’ll be forced to move this pawn, then my bishop here… Check in two, love, let’s go.”

I check in the mirror that every blonde hair is where it’s meant to be and adjust the pearls around my neck. Obadiah always wanted me to look good – not too good that other men would chase me, but enough that they would look at him because he was standing next to me. “They’ll look at the beautiful dame, then the businessman who’s arm she’s on, then ask to invest in his company just for a chance to be near her longer.” I wasn’t convinced that his plan worked.

Obadiah and I have been together for seven months at this point, long enough to grow tired of his perpetual tardiness, but not long enough for us to be seen leaving the same hotel room together. We slept in separate beds last night, of course; Obie is a man of high morals but tight checkbooks.

Purse hanging from the crook of my elbow, I call out over my shoulder, “I’ll meet you downstairs.” He hums in response, still curled over the chessboard trying to figure out where he went wrong. I close the door behind me.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Obie says, coming in from the elevator, fiddling with the cufflinks he bought just for the occasion – more than he could afford, he’ll probably return them at the end of the trip – the light from the chandelier above reflecting on his scalp. We leave the lobby to wait outside.

“Stop fretting. Your presentation will be flawless.” I straighten his tie as the taxi slides to a stop outside the hotel doors.

“I don’t want to let Howard down. Everything is riding on this.”

“I know, Obie, I know.”

I talk with the wives of the other businessmen in a corner, while they over-sip on over-sweet drinks. Obie didn’t send me to spy, but it’s hard not to notice when their loose lips spill secrets not meant to leave the boardroom, and surprises meant to wait for the expo. The first day of the event was reserved for socialization, for inventors and investors to shake hands, tease each other about what they might be presenting and prod for any information they can get. The women are undermined, seen and not heard, but always listening. Always listening.

This was my second Stark Expo; last year I attended as an intern at the Future Foundation, frequently dismissed as a secretary or spouse before I got the chance to share that I was about to graduate from Columbia Business School with Honors. I was put into a box before I opened my mouth. The fifties are a terrible time to be a smart woman.

Tired of the gossiping, tipsy wives, I leave to find Obie. He was almost always easy to find, taller and broader than most of the scholars who have never known a hard day of work in their life, and his bald head shines like a lighthouse. Unsuccessful, I wander off alone.

A waiter hands me a martini, and I find myself in front of the exhibit dedicated to Captain Steve Rogers. It was the same every year; there’s no new information about the man since he crash-landed in the Atlantic, but the fanfare and mythos around him has only increased. The shield and empty suit sat behind a wall of thick glass, carefully preserved by the curator, who was a close friend of the Captain. Several pictures of him decorate the exhibit. Tall, blonde, steel blue eyes. He was handsome, with wide shoulders and an even wider jaw. The perfect American specimen.

I stand in front of the suit, the reflection of my head barely coming up to its sternum, imagining how differently the war might have ended had he survived. A silhouette joins from my right and makes me jump, my senses a little dulled from the drink. I turn around.

“Peggy!”

The brunette Englishwoman takes me in her arms, and I breathe in her perfume. I had met her at last year’s expo when she tried to convince me to learn some self-defense, promising it wouldn’t make me too muscular and unfeminine.

We let each other go, and I notice her cast a sad glance at the exhibit before looking back to me. “Maria, how are you? Are you still working for the Future Foundation?” She looks perfect, as always, with her signature red lipstick.

“I’m well. I graduated from the internship and am working elsewhere. I’m here with a man.” Her eyes widen curiously as I continued. “He’s presenting an invention on Saturday.”

“Is it serious?”

“It’s… Comfortable.”

“If you need some excitement, my offer from last year still stands,” she offers. I smile at her politely, looking down at my shoes. I don’t think I was meant to be a secret agent.

“Maria, there you are! I have someone I want you to meet.” Obadiah blunders into the exhibit, a drink in his hand, and it is clearly not his first. He places a large hand on my shoulder and turns around to point back into the party. “Oh, I don’t know where he went. Howard was just here.”

“He’s probably off in a corner with some blonde,” Peggy smiles. “I need to speak with him, I’ll send him your way once I find him.”

She leaves, and once she’s out of eyesight, Obie’s hand slips from my shoulder to my waist. The forwardness brings me out of the martini-induced hazed, and I stand straight up. I move his hand for him.

“Sorry, Mar,” his breath reeking of alcohol, releasing me. “I’ll find something to eat, get something to soak it all up. I’ll need to stay sharp tonight.” He kisses me on the cheek, and I’m alone again, the swell of music and murmur of guests in the background.

Obadiah’s presentation went smoothly, but not as fantastical as he had hoped. The inventor before him showed something very similar, and the crowd was unenthusiastic and less receptive. Some investors bit at the bait, handshakes and promises were exchanged – but no money, which is what Obie desperately needs to continue this charade of a rich man. He came from very little, but he is very good at multiplying anything that crosses his path, a paradigm of the American legend. I do not know much of Obie’s past, but I do know it is grim enough to make him cry in his sleep some nights. Maybe I should invest in gasoline, he would ponder, or some new kind of energy. I need to create a legacy.

His legacy. We talked more of his legacy than anything else, more than chess moves or what to have for dinner or even the weather. His legacy. And he was positive his legacy would start with the two of us, flowing from our descendants, a watershed to admire for decades to come. While he hasn’t asked my father for my hand, he has dropped more than enough hints about his intentions, and I dodge every one of them best I can. He was 29 – six years older than me – and it was time he started a family by society’s expectations. I just wasn’t sure I that wanted to participate.

He lives in a tiny apartment in the Bronx – an apartment, not a house – and invests every penny he earns back into his machines. My father, a realtor, tried to convince him into investing into some real estate in the Upper East Side, but Obadiah gently refused his help, believing the only way to make in this world is to make it on your own.

I am asleep by the time he returns from the second day of the expo, and his entrance wakes me in a start. I had retired early, not wishing to entertain the drunken wives any longer.

“That bastard,” Obie trails off, locking the hotel door behind him and setting the key on the dresser. He sits on the second bed in the room and collapses into a sunken posture, his head falling heavily into his hands.

I slip out from under my covers and sit next to him. I run my hand up and down his back, trying to bring comfort to the defeated man. He would never tell me what had occurred that day, no matter how many times or ways I tried to ask, only the aftermath and resentment that followed, and it is my duty to pick up the pieces.

“God strike me down if I ever willingly enter business with a Stark,” he finally sighs into his hands. “That man is the worst of them all, a piranha and a coward. I told him my next great idea, and not five minutes later I hear him pitching it to an adoring crowd like it was his own. The rich get richer, and I’m still at the bottom. Hold me to it, Mar, if I ever shake his hand, it better be when I’m buying his company out from under him.”

“Yes, dear.”

#where ignorance is bliss #wiib reading #marvel #howard stark #what if #fanfiction #canary writes a fanfiction

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2seokfan · 4 years

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Scarlet & Hazel | Ch. 1

pairings: hoseok x reader x yoongi

genre: fluff, very light angst, smut (future)

word count: 3.6k

chapters: ch.1, ch.2, ch.3, ch.4

summary:

Just cause you’re living paycheck to paycheck in a tiny apartment even after graduating college doesn’t mean you’re not happy. So what if your best friend is working her dream job making close to six figures every year? So what if she’s in a loving, committed relationship with her perfect boyfriend that you’re 99% sure is going to propose to her sometime next year? It doesn’t matter that your idea of a perfect relationship is a $9.99 bottle of wine on Friday nights while you binge watch Netflix specials.

Ok so maybe you’re a teensy bit miserable. Maybe you have no idea what you’re doing with your life. Maybe all you need to do is accidentally cross paths with two hybrids who will drastically change that.

Meet “Scarlet” and “Hazel”, two of the most gorgeous hybrid men you have ever laid eyes on. With their help, you learn that life is an adventure, a rollercoaster with ups and downs, and you were too preoccupied with yourself to climb out of your own predicament. And hey, you’re not much of a romantic, but with these two, you just might change your mind.

note: Hi! This is my first fic ever! I don’t even know if anyone’s gonna read this but I’ve had this idea in my head for awhile so fuck it.

You kicked off your shoes and threw your purse on the couch.

“God my back hurts!”

Honestly with the amount of random bodily aches you experience on a daily business you could pass for being 70 years old. But this time you knew where the pain stemmed from. You just had to fall asleep awkwardly after a night on your phone. And of course today was a work day and you slept past all THREE of your alarms. But you know that feeling when you sleep for a suspiciously long amount of time and something doesn’t feel right? That’s the sixth sense that saved your ass this morning because your internal body clock was like sweetie I think you’re late.

You only had time to slap on some makeup, hoping it looked semi decent, and throw your greasy hair into a messy, but passable bun because no one wants to see an ugly receptionist. You had to skip your morning Starbucks drive-through routine because you’re about to be LATE, late so you grab your keys and start your car, booking it to work.

You work at a private hybrid clinic which pays a little better than most but that means you also have to deal with a lot of attitude from rich “owners” (you hate that word). And you sat weirdly at work today so that did nOThing to help your back pain. Also how come everybody decided to book an appointment today?? It’s Friday for god's sake why does everyone and their mothers decide it’s time to call the clinic and book a checkup. They get so mad at you when you say this whole month is filled. You can’t change the schedule though?? The calendar’s filled lady either get over it and settle for next month or fuck off (of course you don’t say that out loud cause you’ll get fired). Also someone yelled at you today because they didn’t like the magazine choices in the waiting room.

Anyways your day sucked and you couldn’t be happier being back in your tiny apartment to binge watch netflix stand-up comedies until you collapse. Well you say it’s your apartment but you actually have a roommate. She’s nothing like you though, she’s the epitome of responsibility. You agreed to live with her even though you met her through Craigslist because once you met her in person you deemed her genuine enough, and also found out she’s hardly ever at the apartment but she still pays rent on time?! You really hit the jackpot with her honestly. Cause you can be a little bit messy sometimes but even when she is home she never complains. The only negative side of having her as a roommate is that you never really had time to bond with her cause she’s so busy and over your league that even after a year you two still aren’t anything more than friendly acquaintances.

Alright time to get out of your work clothes and into nothing but your favorite oversized t-shirt with no pants on because that is what you deem home-appropriate attire. But before you turn on netflix your tummy is making “feed me” noises so it’s time to check the fridge. Damn no leftovers. Time to crack open one of those Trader Joe’s frozen meals you have stacked in the freezer. You blindly pick a box. Guess you’re having vegan tikka masala tonight. Not gonna lie though those frozen meals are actually not half bad. Or maybe you’ve been away from good home cooking for so long you’ve become desensitized? Who cares, you’re hungry. Also it’s Friday, so no harm in cracking open a bottle of wine right?

When you’re all settled on the couch with your favorite plush blanket on your legs, a random comedian on tv, and a full tummy, your mind drifts away. It’s Saturday tomorrow and you have the weekends off. Maybe you should do something fun for yourself to make up for the crap you had to deal with today. You text your best friend Karli. You know she’s awake since it’s only 10pm.

You: Hey girl wanna go to the beach or smth tmrw?? <3

Karli: Yaaas ok I don’t work!! What time?

You: and we can walk around all the fancy stores and get coffee from that place we love.

You: hmmm how bout meet there @11??

Karli: Sounds good sweetie want me to pick you up?

You: no its ok ill meet u there i need to buy groceries after

Karli: Kk love ya see you then!!!

You: love ya! night bby

Karli knows that when you say “go to the beach” you really mean walk along the beach and the nearby stores because it’s early June and prime tourist season. That means the sand is packed with people and their kids and the water’s probably filled with pee so you’re not really down for that. Also the expensive shops near the beach are so cute and you love walking around window shopping, pretending like you can actually afford any of the items on display.

The wine is now getting to you cause before you know it you find your eyelids getting heavy. You muster up your last ounce of strength to turn off the tv and force yourself out of the couch cause your poor back doesn’t need another excuse to keep hurting. As much as you don’t want to wash your face and brush your teeth, you have to because you don’t want makeup on your pillowcase tonight. And when you finally crawl into bed you knock out instantly.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Oh fuck…”

You forgot that drunk you last night set an alarm today for 9am. Thank you drunk Y/N.

Why 9am? Because you need to shower and get ready, plus the beach you’re going to is near the north part of the city, which is also the expensive part of the city, meaning it’s a LONG ways from where you live. But the stores are aesthetically pleasing and it contains both you and Karli’s favorite coffee shop so you’re willing to make the 25 minute drive. Karli doesn’t have to worry though because she lives a lot closer than you do. Girl has got her shit together. Honestly you’re just glad she decided to move back after graduate school cause the long distance friend thing sucks balls.

You hop in the shower and rinse yourself awake. The weather is perfect, warm but not too hot. Unlike many people who prefer to dress up for a nice outing, you’re just the opposite. You’ve been forced to dress in nice business attire with a full face of makeup all week. Hell no are you dressing up on your days off too. It’s a sweatpants and tank top kinda day so that’s exactly what you wear. Ever since college you’ve spoiled yourself into only wearing comfy clothes whenever you have the chance and it’s become a minor problem in your life. You have some perfectly nice jeans in the closet but you haven’t worn them in forever. And you’re not gonna wear them today either. And makeup? Who needs makeup? You’ll just go barefaced since you have no one to impress. Actually just kidding maybe a little concealer just to cover up a few rough spots but that’s IT. You’re still a little self conscious and you know you have to work on that but not today.

It’s now 10:15. You grab your purse from the couch, slip on your favorite pair of slides and head to your car. You’re the kind of person who absolutely needs music when you drive so you quickly start blasting your favorite playlist. Before you know it, you’re pulling up to the beach area. Parking is hard to find on the weekend but your lucky ass managed to squeeze into a street parking spot right as someone pulls out. You lock your car and make the trek to Cozy Coffeehouse, your favorite coffee shop hands down.

Karli is already here and she’s hopping up and down, waving at you. She looks super cute today in her little black dress and fishnets. She’s had the same taste since high school and you’re glad that even a Master’s degree hasn’t stopped her from dressing all punk on her days off. You jog over and give her a quick hug.

“Hey girl look at you!! You’re so cute!” You take in her makeup and you swear if she didn’t go the corporate route she definitely should have been a makeup artist. Her eyeshadow is amazing and you’ll never ever have the blending talent that she has, nor could you ever get your eyeliner to look that sharp.

“Aw thanks! You look comfy though I’m kinda jealous now maybe I should’ve dressed down.”

“No I love your outfits! Besides, someone has to look nice in this relationship.”

You link arms and march into the cafe. It’s located near the fancy designer stores on a large hill overlooking the beach. When you step inside the whole atmosphere screams ‘cozy’, fitting its name perfectly. The interior is littered with mismatched sofas and armchairs but it somehow still looks aesthetically pleasing. Soft piano jazz is playing through speakers and when you step inside the delicious scent of freshly ground coffee beans immediately invades your nostrils.

You glance at their pastry display first. Today must be your lucky day because they have tiramisu and you absolutely love tiramisu but it’s usually sold out. No way in hell are you letting this chance slide, fuck breakfast norms you’re definitely getting a bite of that. Unfortunately you’re not a fan of sugary treats on top of sugary drinks so to balance things out you choose to order their house brew.

After you two order, you find a spot in one of the plush armchairs near the window and sit. You really are lucky today since window seats are usually taken. But not this time! You guys get to enjoy the gorgeous scenery displayed before you. The sun is bright, people are laying on the beach tanning, and kids are splashing each other with water. For the first time in awhile, you feel content with life, if only for a bit.

Before long your orders are called out and you stand up to retrieve them. Once you’re settled, you break into conversation with Karli, eager to catch up on everything that happened since you two last spoke face-to-face. You talk about work, Karli’s boyfriend Sunny, that new pizza place that opened up near your apartment that actually has really shitty pizza.

“Like seriously how do you fuck up pizza that badly?” you exclaim in between generous bites of tiramisu.

“No I get you,” Karli responds, slurping her iced mocha frappuchino, “everybody knows what pizza is supposed to taste like, I mean it’s gotta take talent to actually fuck it up to the level you’re describing girl.”

“Exactly!!” You wave your arms in the air, wanting to physically demonstrate your frustration at the situation and your passion for good pizza.

“Anyways…” Karli gently sets her drink down and takes on a more serious tone. “How are you though, honestly.”

“Hmm, me?” You swallow your last bite of tiramisu, “I’m doing good. Works ok, life’s ok. You know. Everything’s… ok.”

“I get that everything’s ‘ok’ but you know I want you to be more than ok. I want you to be happy”

You see the genuine concern in her eyes. Bless this girl for being so soft-hearted.

She continues, “And when was the last time you dated? Like, what, 2 years ago??”

Of course she has to mention dating. Karli has always been a romantic. You? Not so much. Your brain tended to err on the logical, practical side, which is not always a good idea since it keeps you away from many potential relationships.

“I date!” You scoff, but you’re not convincing anybody, least of all yourself.

“Oh really?” Her eyes widen in mock surprise, “Tinder one night stands don’t count babe. You know what I mean.”

“Well you didn’t specify…” You mumble, trying to come up with any excuse to defend your pride. You know she’s just being a good friend and that she’s asking because she cares about you, so you don’t let her questions irritate you.

“Sweetie I’m not trying to make you feel bad and I’m sorry if it comes across that way. It’s just… you mean a lot to me and you’re my bestie and I just want to see you be happy.” She takes your hand from across the table and looks you in the eyes. “We don’t get to see each other as much as we used to, so when I do I want to check in on how you’re doing.”

Then she averts her eyes, which you find highly suspicious. “Also I may or may not have found someone who I KNOW will be a perfect match for you.”

“AHA I KNEW you were leading up to something!”

“Wait but hear me out. He’s an accountant and at first I was like hmmm is he too boring for Y/N? But then I realized I was judging him by his job and that’s not cool so I talked to him and he’s, like, actually super cute and super sweet and I think you two will get along so well!” She’s speaking very fast at this point, trying to squeeze out as much information as possible before you can interject. Then she finishes with one of her signature Karli smiles, big and wide and all teeth and she knows you can’t say no to that face.

“Dammit. Fine.” You lost this round. “Alright if he wants to meet up I won’t say no. How bout that?”

“Gee that’s so thoughtful of you Y/N.” Her tone is sarcastic but she’s still smiling so you know she means no harm.

After another half hour of conversation, locked in a heated debate about food again (this time she’s defending her stance that pineapple belongs on pizza), Karli’s phone rings. The sound scares the poor girl half to death, and watching her jump a mile from her couch had you snorting into your coffee mid drink.

She looks at the caller ID, muttering under her breath, “It’s Saturday what do they want?” then glances up with a sad little pout, “Sorry Y/N it’s work gimme a sec…”

From what you can hear on her side of the conversation, something has come up and she has to head to the office right away.

“Ok I’ll be there in fifteen,” she hangs up and gives an exaggerated “Ughhhhh”. She takes one large gulp, finishing the last of her ultra sweet, ultra whipped frappuccino. “It’s like they can’t do anything when I’m not there.” She looks especially apologetic when her eyes land back on you, “I’m so sorry I have to cut this short…”

“Hey it’s ok! Duty calls ya know,” you give her a reassuring grin, hoping it passes for a smile instead of a grimace. You were really hoping to hang out today.

“No it’s not ok. We didn’t even get to walk around today! And I know how much you like to do that.” She stands up, slipping her purse onto her shoulder, “so next time I’ll plan a day where I guarantee I won’t get interrupted. It’s the least I can do.”

“Mk sounds good babe,” you give her a big hug, “Go get ‘em tiger!”

After she exits the cafe you finish the last bit of your coffee and glance out the window, staring at the people on the beach. Wow it’s really crowded down there today. You zone in on two kids attempting to build a sandcastle, but it’s too close to the water so the waves flatten it in two seconds. But it seems they didn’t learn their lesson because they keep rebuilding the castle in the same spot. Just move it further up little dudes.

You find yourself lost in thought again. Just because Karli’s suddenly busy doesn’t mean you don’t still have a whole day to yourself. You can walk around on your own. Also why not treat yourself to another drink? A fun one this time from their specials menu.

Ten minutes later you find yourself wandering around the various shops, hot hazelnut latte in hand, gazing at display after display of designer clothes and bags. Look, you may not be a huge fashion person, or have any expendable cash, but a girl can still appreciate art, especially when it’s laid out so nicely in front of you.

Speaking of art, there’s an art gallery coming up that you absolutely love. You’ve always been too afraid to go inside because you’re the type of person who feels obligated to buy something if you enter a local store and you DEFinitely can’t afford anything there. So you opt to loiter outside, like some creep, looking a little too long at the featured art through the window. This time it’s an Impressionist style painting of a ship on hazy waters with a sunset in the background. You’re no artist but you can appreciate good quality work when you see it. The piece is mesmerizing and serene, transfixing you to the spot. Before you know it, you’ve been staring for 15 whole minutes.

While admiring the artist’s use of color on the display piece, you overhear a lady raising her voice not too far away, snapping you out of your trance. It sounds like drama, so being the nosy bitch that you are, you’re definitely gonna check it out, if only to satisfy your curiosity.

“What do you mean ‘no’?! You’ll be perfect for each other!! Where’s your owner I bet he’ll listen!” At this point the lady’s voice is sounding downright aggressive.

As you shuffle closer to the scene of the noise, you spot a middle-aged, blonde lady pointing her finger at two hybrid men, almost jabbing one of them in the chest with her sharp, ruby nails. Behind her stands a gorgeous female arctic fox hybrid who clearly belongs to her as she pats her owner’s shoulders, trying to calm her down.

“I’m sorry miss but we just aren’t interested.” The taller of the two hybrids with orange hair speaks up, gently pushing the lady’s hands away. “Please leave us alone.” He’s being surprisingly calm, even after getting yelled at in public.

“Yeah lady get out of our faces,” the other white and grey haired hybrid is definitely more agitated, crossing his arms as he huffs in annoyance. You don’t blame him since the blonde lady is being ridiculously rude.

You can’t really make out the two males’ faces, since they’re turned away from you, but they are obviously hybrids. Both having incredibly bushy, soft-looking tails and tall, pointy ears sticking out of their heads.

Even if you can’t see their expressions, you can tell they’re uncomfortable with the harassment. Since you’re still somewhat unaware of the context, you stay out of the argument but decide to keep an eye on the situation in case the lady steps out of line. You’re just slightly around the corner, able to stay a safe distance away so that no one, especially the lady, can catch you eavesdropping. Pretending to admire the Gucci purses displayed in front of the shop you’re now standing at, and almost choking at the price, you cautiously side-eye blondie as she refuses to back down from the hybrid boys.

“Listen here you rude little pets, I’m not leaving you alone until I see your owner. My Sylvia here,” she gestures to the fox hybrid behind her, “would make a perfect partner for you.” She pokes the orange haired hybrid again, “I’ve been searching so long for her to find a mate and I’m not giving you up! Now where the hell is your owner!”

What the fuck?! How dare this lady talk to them like that? And in public no less! You now know exactly why she’s yelling at them. Working at a private hybrid clinic has opened your eyes to the harsh world of hybrids, and their selfish, rich owners. It’s not uncommon for owners to negotiate with each other and breed their hybrids. If two pretty hybrids mate, their children can be sold for loads of money. It's cruel and disgusting, with many of the children sold off before they can even get to know their parents. You’re all too familiar with this tradition, often catching owners in the waiting room of your clinic discussing in whispers about buying and selling hybrid children as if they’re livestock.

“Hey what the fuck did you call us?!” The white and grey hybrid is now also raising his voice. “Listen you wrinkly bi…!” He is quickly silenced by the orange hybrid, who abruptly clamps his hand over his buddy’s mouth.

Orange hair clears his throat. “What he means is, we don’t appreciate the tone you’re using with us. Please leave us alone ma’am. We’ll be on our way. Goodbye.” They attempt to brush past her.

“Hey hold on a minute! I’m not done with you!!” This lady even has the balls to grab onto orange hair’s arm. “I demand to speak to your owner!” Then some sort of realization dawns upon her because her eyes go wide, then quickly narrow. “And where are your collars? Aren’t owned hybrids supposed to have collars on? You know I just might have to call Hybrid Services.”

You can see the boys visibly tense at her words as she sports a satisfied smirk. Poor Sylvia is now gently tugging on her shirt. “Please calm down, miss…” she says desperately trying to remedy the situation.

Before you know it, and without any plan of action, you round the corner and march up to the boys, standing defensively in front of them.

“Um…” You gulp, then clear your throat, speaking in what you hope is a more confident tone. “Sorry I took so long guys! You wouldn’t believe the line at the coffee shop!”

#bts fic #bts hybrid au #hoseok fanfic #yoongi fanfic #bts smut #bts fluff #bts fanfction #hybrid hoseok #hybrid yoongi #bts hybrid fic

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downwiththeficness · 4 years

Text

A Need So Great-Chapter 9

Summary: Eva Moore is assigned to work the last year of her contract with the DEA in Colombia. She just wants to get to the end of her tenure, but she keeps getting drawn further into a string of murders in the city. It isn’t long before she’s forced to face the ghosts of her past.

Word Count: ~3,300

Warnings: None

A/N: For the purposes of this story, Carrillo isn’t married--or, if you like, divorced. A/B/O dynamics are prevalent, and they come with their own warning. The overall rating for this story is Explicit, although not every chapter will contain adult themes.

Taglist: @dirtynerdy98 @1zashreena1 @heresathreebee @deliciouslyclassytrash @maybege @kid-from-new-zealand @clydesducktape

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8.5, 10, 10.5, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

Eva sat in the conference room, trying hard not to fidget. Javier and Steve were to her left, and there was a projector sitting behind the table. None of them knew why they were sitting there. None of them knew when the meeting would start. All that they were told was that they were supposed to be sitting in that room by nine am that day. No exceptions.

The air kicked on, filling the room with a dull drone. Eva grabbed her pen and held it in her palm, using her thumb to slide the cap up and down along the length of it. She wanted to get up and take a lap around the room to excise some of the nervous energy she felt.

Javier lit a cigarette, sinking down lower into his chair, looking annoyed, “How long’ve we been sitting here?”

Steve looked at his watch, “About twenty minutes.”

“Fuck me,” Javier groaned, rubbing his eye, “I got about a thousand pages of paperwork that need to get done and we’re sitting here with our thumbs up our asses.”

She had to agree. She’d gotten a little behind with reading through case files. Although she was used to redacted information, she wasn’t used to whole sections of them being completely missing. As she moved through the most recent information, that was occurring more and more often. She thought she’d gotten the mole over two months ago, but now… there had to be more than one.

The door opened and Vanessa walked in. Eva inhaled deeply, her grip on the pen tightening until she heard the plastic crack. Jaw clenched, she sat up and prepared herself for the inevitable. Unable to help it, she glanced at the two agents she’d worked with so closely, already mourning the friendship they’d started to develop. She wondered if Connie would be calling to cancel their work out tonight.

Blinking, she turned her attention to the woman who signed her paychecks.

“Hello, thank you for waiting. I’m Vanessa Arnold.”

A tall, stately woman, dressed in a crisp suit, Vanessa looked at them with a critical gaze. She addressed each of them in turn, welcoming them to the meeting. Eva’s eyes narrowed as Vanessa sorted the stack of files in front of her. She knew those files—well worn over the years, and slowly growing.

“I am here,” she announced, her expression business placid, “Because I’ve heard some disturbing information and I would like to give you the opportunity to address it.”

Next to her, Javier stubbed out his cigarette, “What kind of information?”

Vanessa smiled, it was not a nice smile, “It has been reported to the States that you are engaging in some inappropriate behavior.”

Javier and Steve looked at each other, a whole conversation passing between them that Eva wasn’t sure she could decipher. Steve, who was sitting next to her, put his elbows on the table, resting his head on his hands. Javier stayed where he was, but she could feel the heat of the glare he leveled at Vanessa.

“Now, we deal with some very serious things, and sometimes that wears us down.” Standing, Vanessa circled the conference table, hand skimming over the chairs. “Sometimes, that leads us to forget our boundaries and the expectations of the DEA for its agents.”

Eva’s gaze followed Vanessa as she sauntered towards them, pace excruciatingly slow. She knew where this was going, had attended this meeting at least once in every location she’d been sent to, usually at about the six month mark. And yet, it still hurt. Vanessa knew how to make it hurt.

Javier cleared his throat, “With all due respect, Ms. Arnold, can you get to the point?”

There was that ugly smile again, “Absolutely. I’ve received reports that you and Agent Murphy are participating in social events with Mrs. Moore. Going out to bars, eating lunch together—Agent Murphy, your wife has been attending classes at the gym with Mrs. Moore, has she not?”

Steve’s mouth thinned, “She has. There aren’t many Americans in this country, least of all anyone who might be able to commiserate about life in close quarters with the DEA.”

Vanessa cast him a condescending look, “Still, it doesn’t exactly put you in a positive light, does it?”

Eva could feel the wheels of Steve’s mind turning as he processed what she’d said. He flicked his fingers out in a sharp motion before curling them into his palms, “I don’t understand. Eva is a contract consultant, paid by the DEA to work with us. How is associating with her outside of work a negative?”

Here we go.

Vanessa stepped back and flicked off the lights, then moved to the projector and turned it on, “Mrs. Moore is generally reticent to talk about it, but I feel its important for you to know who you are working with.”

The projector clicked and Eva’s mug shot flashed onto the wall opposite the group. She closed her eyes, working to control her breathing. She’d been released into police custody right out of the hospital. Her arm was still in a cast, her face heavily swollen and bruised. The picture was not flattering.

“Mrs. Moore was charged and convicted of the murder of her husband a few years prior to coming to work for us.”

Another click. Her husband’s picture, his professional photo, came up. Josh was impeccably groomed, smile wide and white, eyes clear and sparkling. She bit the inside of her cheek, stunned that she could still feel such hatred towards a person no longer living.

“This is Joshua Moore. A prominent doctor and businessman out of Louisiana. His practice was located just outside of New Orleans. He was most well known for donating large amounts to charities across the state.”

For the tax write off. And, to get the votes of the city councils.

Click. Their wedding picture. Eva felt bile rise in her throat. Fourteen years old, looking like a baby next to a twenty five year old who’d just started working for the local hospital. Her mother had picked out her dress—a frilly, lace encrusted thing that was a touch too long. She remembered how much her feet hurt from walking in the heels she needed to wear to keep the thing from dragging too much down the aisle. Standing at the altar had been excruciating enough that she’d stumbled over her vows.

“By all accounts, Mrs. Moore and her husband had a passionate relationship.”

Passionate is one way to put it.

In the beginning, she’d fought him when she thought he was being unfair. He’d scream, punch doors, throw things, eventually things devolved into physical beatings. It only took about a year for her to stop fighting and just do what he wanted. It was easier that way. Soon enough, he figured out how good she was at hiding things—money, product, herself—and he let her in on the family business.

Click. Their blood covered carpet with his outline marked in tape.

“One night, things got out of hand. Mr. Moore unfortunately lost his life at the hands of his wife.”

God, could she be a little less dramatic? Her voice had lowered down to a soft, sweet sound that grated on every nerve Eva had. She felt her mouth lift in a sneer before she could check the motion. Sniffing, she relaxed the muscles of her face, looking forward at the picture dispassionately.

Click. The trail of blood leading from the living room out the back door.

“When police arrived on the scene, Mr. Moore was found in the back yard, on fire. Autopsy reports state that he was set aflame post mortem. His cause of death was confirmed as blunt force trauma to the skull.”

Click. Her husband’s dead body, skin black and burned down to bone, laying atop a cart. Click. A close up of his face, half the skull missing. In bottom right corner, there was a little ‘R’ marked in what looked to be black permanent marker. This was the only new aspect of the photos. Every location. Every six months. Every photo. She’d seen them over and over and had them memorized. It didn’t seem possible that this little song and dance could still make her angry, but it did. She was tired of paying for a justifiable action she’d taken to save her own life.

Vanessa left the last photo up, moving to stand before them, one hand slipping into the pocket of her slacks. Eva kept her gaze steady, ready to take what would come next, the words that she’d heard for many years.

“Gentleman, you’re sitting next to a cold blooded murder, a person who took a life that was privileged and beat it to death with a fire extinguisher. Think about what kind of person could do that to someone they loved. This about who she would have to be to drag a dead body out of her house and set it on fire. Think about how associating with that kind of person reflects on you and your careers.”

The silence that followed was familiar and tense. Both men looking at Vanessa—Javier gently tapping his forefinger on the table, Steve with his head on his hands.

Vanessa’s eyes narrowed, but she kept smiling, “I’m going to let you keep thinking on that. Thank you for coming in. Have a nice day.”

And then she as striding out, her heels clicking on the tile. Eva watched her go, the door closing gently behind her. Eva just caught the face of that department head she’d nearly forgotten about as he approached Vanessa in the hall. She let the sneer form on her mouth, knowing that the rumor mill would start almost immediately.

The air in the room felt oppressive, the darkness only adding more pressure. Eva pushed a breath through her nose, scratching at the skin above her eyebrow as she tried to think of something to say.

Javier spoke for her, “What a load of bullshit.”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. It was, indeed, a load of bullshit. She’d never had someone put it so succinctly so quickly following the presentation.

Steve leaned back in his seat, smashing the power button on the projector. It turned off with the groaning hiss of an air fan, leaving the room completely dark. Eva took the opportunity to swallow back the old feelings that had been drudged up in the last ten minutes. Ten minutes. That’s all it took for her to feel like shit again. She fucking hated Vanessa.

Javier stood up and flicked on the lights, returning to his seat and sitting heavily. He pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and lit one, offering the pack to Steve, who took it. Eva folded her hands over her chest and waited for someone to speak.

Steve tapped off ash into a faceted glass tray, “So that’s why you told us about it early on.”

“That’s why I told you about it early on,” Eva confirmed with a nod.

Javier blew out a lungful of smoke, “She do this often?”

“Yeah.”

“How often?”

“Every time, with every team.”

He nodded, leaning his forearms on the table, “You notice she left your files.”

“Yep,” Eva bit out.

It was a perfect strategy. If she hadn’t been up front about her husband, it would be impossible for anyone to ignore the fact that the whole story, in black and white, was sitting right there.

Steve reached out and placed his hand next to her on the tabletop, “You want us to read through it.”

She shrugged, “You can, if you want. Its a nicely worded story. Not too flattering to me, of course.”

They looked at each other for a few seconds, another private conversation passing between them. She kept her expression neutral, not wanting to sway them one way or another.

Steve threw the butt of his cigarette into the tray, “Connie and I are having a pool party next weekend. You want to come? Carrillo, too.”

Eva felt her jaw drop, didn’t bother to conceal her shock, “You want me to come to a party.”

“Yeah,” he said, his mouth curling into a smile, “Maybe you can convince Javi, here, to put on a swim suit.”

“I wear swim trunks,” Javier cut in with mock anger.

Steve rolled his eyes, “Only because Connie won’t let you come if you’re not wearing appropriate attire.” Then, to Eva, “You got a suit?”

She nodded, “I do.”

“Good, bring a bottle of booze, and you’re set.”

Eva sat there, staring at him, her mouth open. It was one thing for her to tell them what she’d done. It was another thing to come face to face with pictures of her husband’s mutilated body and react with, what? Nonchalance?

Steve leaned towards her, “Connie wouldn’t be alive if you hadn’t gotten her out of that restaurant. I don’t give a shit what you did to that guy. What you did, here? That’s what counts.”

She looked between them. Javier wasn’t talking, but he nodded as Steve spoke, offering silent support. Eva felt her chest constrict with a soft affection for them both. The relief was a physical thing, exhaling with her next breath.

“Thank you.”

Steve shrugged, “Don’t mention it. Vodka—bring a bottle. Wear your suit.”

As it turned out, Connie did not cancel their work out that night. She met Eva outside the gym at their regular time, looking at her like a friend. Eva had to cough into her hand to hide the surprised little shriek that wanted to burst out of her when the woman came into view.

They spent the hour sweating and huffing through a one challenging set after another, the sound of the instructor’s voice coaching them through the movements. Afterwards, Eva slumped on the bench, tossing back water and toweling off her face.

“That was fun,” Connie commented from her spot next to her.

Eva sent her a sidelong glance, “Fun is not the word I would use.”

Fun was sitting at a bar, drinking and hollering at the band. Fun was watching a ball game or shopping for new clothes. What they had just done was hard work—muscle burning, lung searing, skin sizzling hard work. Still, Eva enjoyed it, needed the release of endorphins.

“You know, one of the things I look forward to when I get back to the states is flaunting my newly hot body when I see those skinny bitches at my high school reunion.”

Eva laughed, “You’ll be the talk of the party—look at those biceps.”

Connie flexed, smiling wide, “Gotta get me one of those strapless, backless dresses, just to show off.”

“Oh, Steve’ll love that.”

“He would,” Connie said with a coy little tilt of her shoulders. “He tell you about the party?”

Eva nodded, “Yeah, I’ve been tasked with bringing a bottle of vodka.”

“And wearing a suit,” Connie asserted, pointing at Eva.

“I have one, don’t worry.”

“I want everyone dressed for the occasion, no office wear allowed.”

“Ah, damn, I’ll have to leave my pencil skirt at home.”

Connie rolled her eyes, “I’m so glad I get to wear scrubs. My feet still hurt at the end of the day, but at least its not from wearing heels.”

Eva took another long swig, “Yeah, but you do have to be one your feet all day. At least I get to sit down.”

“Pros and cons.”

Eva nodded, “Agreed. Pros and cons.”

“So, are you ever going to tell me what’s going on with you and Carrillo? Steve says you’ve been seeing him.”

Eva set down the water bottle. She’d been wondering, herself, when Connie was going to bring it up. Despite their weekly gym excursions, she hadn’t pushed. Eva was grateful—she didn’t really know how she’d characterize her relationship with the man. They weren’t...like, boyfriend and girlfriend. At least, not how she’d known the concept back before she’d been married. Companions, maybe. Friends, definitely. Friends who slept together. Friends with benefits? That felt too trivializing.

“We’ve gone out a few times,” Eva edged, standing and motioning for Connie to follow.

They walked towards the bathrooms, the humidity spiking from the showers as they passed through the doors.

“And?”

Eva opened her locker and pulled out her gym back, rustling around for her change of clothes, “And...I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

Sighing, Eva stood up and looked at Connie, “I don’t. Not really. I’m only on assignment here for another six months or so. I like him. I like spending time with him. I don’t know where I am from there.”

Connie fixed her with a level look, “You don’t want to get into anything serious because you think you’re leaving in six months.”

Eva thought about it,“Yes.”

“But, you like him enough that you’re willing to go out with him even though it might end sooner rather than later.”

Eva thought again, “Yes.”

She gave a little bob of her head, “That’s fair. Steve says he’s pretty intense.”

Eva didn’t have to think about that one, “Yes.”

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

Eva’s face scrunched, “You want me to say more?”

“Yes, for God’s sake!” Connie burst out, her hands flying in the air, “I want details.”

Eva laughed, “Let me get cleaned up and then we can talk details.”

Connie’s eyes narrowed, “Don’t think I’m going to forget. We’re going to the bar and you’re going to tell me everything.”

They did, indeed, go to the bar, although Eva didn’t really tell Connie everything. She talked about their dates, how he’d been polite and conscientious, how she felt when they kissed, and that she hadn’t yet spent the night at his place but she wanted to.

“You know, when I met him, I thought he was terrifying,” Connie commented as she sipped a gin and tonic.

Eva lifted a brow, “Why?”

Thinking for a moment, Connie settled on, “He was just so serious. Like, really, really serious.”

Eva could get that. The man could write a book on taking things seriously. Serious was in his blood. But, she’d seen him soft and sweet, too. She’d seen his dimples as he smiled. Seen his laugh. There was more to him than he showed to the world, more than a hard, scary man. It made her warm inside to think that she got to see that side of him.

“Shame that you don’t think it’ll last,” Connie said, a leading tone in her voice.

Eva brought her beer to her lips, “I have to go home sometime.”

“Where is home, exactly?”

The question caught Eva off guard. She realized that she didn’t exactly know. For a long time, Louisiana was home, and then Texas, and then a host of assignments. Now, it was Colombia. She’d been traveling for so long that she couldn’t root herself down anywhere. She didn’t even know if she wanted to. Her contract end date had been so far away for so long that Eva had never taken the time to work out what she would do afterward. Her record would be cleared, she would no longer be a felon. She would have years of work experience and a tidy little savings.

The possibilities were so numerous that Eva found herself unable to really settle on any one thing that she wanted—except, that wasn’t exactly true. Her heart, down deep, wanted what she might actually be able to have. A too serious, dimple-cheeked man who smelled like tobacco and vetiver.

Connie was looking at her, waiting for her answer. Eva just shrugged and ordered another round of drinks.

#narcos #horacio carrillo #carrillo #A Need So Great

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theanswerstheydontwantyoutoknow · 4 years

Text

99 Super Sexual Asks!

1. Banjo or messobanjo?

2. Anal fisting or hard anal fisting?

3. Do you like anal fisting or hate kittens?

4. Do you listen to banjo music when fantasizing about me?

5. Do you squeak like a mouse or quack like a duck during orgasm?

6. Does anal fisting make you meow like a contented seal?

H. Have you ever tried masturbating to me in private or only in public?

I. How?

J. What's your bra size?

10. Do you like me? Yes/no

11. Are you aware Lynyrd Skynyrd is a band and not a man?

12. Do you listen to Lynyrd Skynyrd while you masturbate?

7. Which Lynyrd Skynyrd song do you listen to when you masturbate?

8. What is your favorite flavor Klondike Bar™ to masturbate with?

15. What is your favorite color?

16. If you were a sex toy, what color are your nipples?

17. What is your favorite vacation spot for anal fisting?

XVIII. What is your favorite book that was written by two women that shared a pet mouse?

XIX. Was that book about anal fisting?

20. Show me dem titties

21. Please?

22. Sure do like titties

23. Come on, just one titty

24. It can even be the left one

25. How old were you when you masturbated for the very last time?

16. If I were a walrus, would you still show me dem titties?

17. What is your favorite theme song for masturbation?

28. Can you orgasm solely from watching birds?

29. What bird is the sexiest?

210. How old were you when you realized birds were so sexy?

211. Do you find mice sexy too?

32. Would you have sex with Stuart Little if he was an adult mouse and gave full consent?

33. How would that even work? Do you just get him a little mouse snorkel and he dives in?

34. We clearly didn't think this Stuart Little sex out very well

35. Why did you even bring Stuart Little up?

Thirty-six. Do you order pizza toppings to match your nipples?

Thirty-seven. If I bought you a pizza would you show me dem titties?

39. Do you special toys for anal fisting play?

40. I'm a bit disturbed you have a thing for Stuart Little

41. He's a mouse for fuck's sake

42. How old were you when you turned 21?

43. Why are you still reading these? They haven't been funny since like #9

ILIV. Do you often find yourself fantasizing about me?

ILV. Then how come you don't show me them damn titties

46. Does my mental sanity concern you?

47. Cause it probably should a little bit

48. If I get committed will you come visit me and show me dem titties?

49. Whaut is your favourite coulour?

50. Does being judged make you want to get naked?

51. Is it only by Judge Judy?

52. Prove the Goldbach conjecture.

53. Who would you like to have inside of you right now?

54. It better not be fucking Stuart Little

55. Do you occasionally or do you often fantasize about adomsmind?

56. What is your favorite color?

57. What is your kinkiest fantasy involving adomsmind and a banjo?

58. What exactly would you do for a Klondike Bar™?

59. I mean kinky stuff

60. Why in the world are you still reading these?

61. If Mary gets on an eastbound train going 31 mph and Tom gets on a westbound train going 19mph 11 minutes later, why have you not shown me them goddamn titties?

62. Come on, I'll send you like three Klondike Bars™

63. What is your favorite color?

64.

65. What flavor is your kink?

66. Who introduced you to your love of Stuart Little?

67. Testicles, that is all

68. Who came first, the chicken or you when you fantasize about me?

69. Nice

70. Have you ever played the banjo while naked in an inflatable pool filled with blue jello?

71. Do you wanna?

72. How many times have I turned your underwear into a slip and slide?

73. How many times a day do you breathe?

74. Kissing or anal fisting?

75. What color is your darkest fantasy?

231 notes · View notes

wren-fell · 3 years

Text

Stuck in Borderland

Chapter 2.2: Six of Diamonds Part 2

Warnings: language, weapons, violence, talk of death

All characters are ocs except for Kuzuryu who belongs to Haro Aso, thanks for reading!

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“Who the fuck would be able to solve this!?” Kaoru yelled pulling on his hair.

“It’s not unsolvable, but with how long it is. It’ll be time consuming,” Kuzuryu muttered as he approached the board.

Sayaka watched the equation before approaching the board, “I know this was meant for me,” she paused to glance at Kuzuryu, “but I think that the best way to approach this is that Akiko, you, and me each take a portion of the problem and work it through.”

Kuzuryu watched her for a second before nodding, “that would be the smartest solution.”

Sayaka looked over her shoulder to call over to Akiko, but she was already approaching the board, “okay, I’ll take this portion, Kuzuryu you do this one, and Sayaka you do that one,” she delegated.

Sayaka nodded saluting her, “yes ma’am!”

The three of them picked up a piece of chalk and started working. It seemed like it was forever before Sayaka took a step back as she circled the number, “that’s what I got.” Akiko and Kuzuryu paused as they analyzed the board.

“That seems correct…” Akiko muttered.

“That answer is…” the voice paused and they all held their breath, “INCORRECT.”

The ceiling began lowering and Kaoru rounded on them, “what the fuck did you do wrong?!”

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” Akiko turned to the board scanning over everyone’s work.

“There’s got to be something we did wrong,” she whispered.

“What about here?” Kuzuryu pointed.

“Yes, that doesn’t look right,” Akiko agreed erasing it and fixing the rest of the work before circling a new number, “there. That’s the answer.”

“That answer is…” they all stared at the ceiling as it continued to get closer and closer, “INCORRECT!” There was a loud bang as the ceiling dropped two feet and continued to slide down.

“Oh my god!” Sayaka screamed flattening herself against the wall.

“What did we do wrong?! I don’t understand!!” Akiko called turning the board.

“Fix it! Fix it!” Daichi screamed as him and Kaoru tried to hold the ceiling up by stacking the desks.

“There are 15 minutes remaining.”

“Here!” Kuzuryu erased a line of Sayaka’s work and redid it, “the answer is square root 5.”

“That answer is…” they all stared at the spikes in the ceiling as they got closer and closer, “correct! Please proceed to the next room.”

The door next to the board slid opened, and they all scrambled over the desk to get to it. One of the spikes caught the desk tower Kaoru and Daichi had been making causing it to collapse knocking Sayaka and Akiko over as they ran towards the door. Sayaka looked over her shoulder at Akiko who was pulling on her leg frantically, “I’m stuck!” she screeched.

Sayaka pulled herself onto her hands and knees and crawled over to Akiko shoving her shoulder into the desks, but they wouldn’t budge. The spikes were getting closer and closer leaving only three quarters of the door out visible.

“Don’t leave me,” Akiko whimpered.

“I’m not,” Sayaka slammed her weight against the desk pile, but it wouldn’t budge. She leaned back on her hands breathing heavily. Gritting her teeth Sayaka laid on her back and pushed her feet against the pile.

“It’s moving!” Akiko called.

“Great get crawling,” Sayaka grunted as she struggled to keep herself from slipping on the linoleum floor. Akiko groaned as she struggled to get her legs free, but managed to wiggle out of the pile, as the spikes in the ceiling collided with the pile again causing it to shift all the weight onto Sayaka’s legs.

“Fuck!”

“Sayaka!” Akiko screamed.

“Just go!” Akiko hesitated, but turned and army crawled towards the door.

Sayaka gritted her teeth, this was so stupid, had Kuzuryu not wasted all that time arguing with her in the 4th room they wouldn’t be in this mess. She wouldn’t be in this mess. Everyone else had already made it out of the room.

“ARGH!” She let out a frustrated scream, “I’m not going to die here. I’ve come too far to die in a stupid diamonds game!” She brought her knees towards her chest a little bit before slamming her feet into the desk pile causing it to shift back just enough that she was able to roll to the side as they fell forward.

“Sayaka come on!” Akiko called from the half disappeared doorway. Sayaka pulled herself forward with her hands, and pushed with her bare toes as she kicked off her flip flops.

“Stupid fucking beach rules,” she cursed as she crawled. She made it to the doorway where Akiko and Daichi grabbed her by her arms yanking her through, and the door slammed shut behind them.

Sayaka laid on her stomach breathing heavily letting her forehead rest against the cool floor. “Sayaka you’re the chemist what’s the answer?” Kuzuryu spoke making her raise her head slowly to glare at the board, “What substance that is commonly found in houses will form a precipitate with an aqueous solution of barium chloride?”. That’s right, she thought to herself, there are still four more rooms.

“Baking soda,” she wheezed pushing herself up onto her hand and knees.

Kuzuryu scribbled the answer onto the board and they all waited for the voice, “that answer is… correct! Please proceed to the next room.”

“Ugh,” Sayaka forced herself to her feet and trudged towards the door as it swung open.

“Sayaka,” Akiko said as they walked into the next room, “thank you.”

Sayaka laughed, “don’t thank me yet, we’ve got 3 more.”

Kuzuryu was already scribbling an answer onto the board in room seven as they walked in. “I was a lawyer this is an easy question for me,” he stated as the voice chimed overhead that the answer was correct, and the door leading out opened up.

“Fine by me,” Sayaka shrugged as she followed him through the next doorway, “if it’s right, it’s right.”

The question on the board in room eight was once again difficult, “they must be alternating. Even rooms are hard and odd rooms are easier questions,” Sayaka muttered.

“Seems like a reasonable explanation, but doesn’t help us,” Kuzuryu agreed as they looked at the board, “What year was Rome founded in?” It was a simple question, but obscure enough that it would take a very specific person to be able to answer it.

“There are 10 minutes remaining.”

Sayaka sighed and ran a hand through her hair, “where to begin…”

“It was in early 750 BC.” They snapped their heads around to Daichi as he took a hesitant step towards the board, “but I can’t remember the exact date,” he admitted sheepishly.

“How do you know?” Kaoru sneered.

Daichi sighed, “I was studying history when I was younger,” he paused, “I had to drop out when my dad died, and we needed someone to work and pay the bills.”

Sayaka watched Daichi for a second really looking at him for the first time. He was probably in his late 20s to early 30s, the oldest out of her group of five, with his black hair cropped close to his head, and lines around his eyes making him look older than he probably was. Daichi walked up to the board and began writing “75” in chalk.

“It’s great that you know that, but I don’t think the game makers will take early 750 BC as the answer…” Sayaka muttered.

“I know…” Daichi replied as he held the chalk over the third number.

“We just have to pick one,” Kuzuryu said.

Sayaka watched the board before turning to Kaoru and Akiko, “get over to the door now. If we get this wrong we need to get out as fast as possible when we redo it,” she ordered. Kaoru glared at her, but rushed over to the door regardless with Akiko close behind.

“Alright Daichi,” Sayaka said turning to him, “take your guess.”

He nodded and wrote the number 0 on the board, and set the chalk back down, “that answer is…” The silence seemed to stretch on as they waited, “INCORRECT.”

The telltale grinding sound began and the spikes slid out as the ceiling began to drop, “try again!” Akiko yelled.

“Alright 751 BC!” Daichi yelled scribbling it onto the board.

“That answer is incorrect!” The ceiling dropped two feet and they all winced.

“Again!”

“752 BC!”

“That answer is incorrect!” The ceiling dropped again now beginning to cover the top of the doorway out.

“Again!” She snapped.

“But, if it’s wrong we’ll die!” Daichi said looking over his shoulder at her.

“If you don’t answer we’ll die anyway!” Kuzuryu replied.

“Okay,” Daichi drew in a deep breath as he picked the chalk back up and wiped the 2 away with the side of his hand, “Rome was built in 753 BC.”

“That answer is… correct! Please proceed to the next room.” The door slid open. Sayaka grabbed Daichi and shoved him through the doorway as the spikes barely grazed their heads.

“There are 5 minutes remaining.” The voice echoed overhead as the door slid shut.

“Alright two more to go we can do this,” Sayaka muttered to herself as she walked towards the board. “To the nearest meter how long is the human small intestine?”

“I got this one,” Sayaka declared as she wrote “2 m” on the board.

“That answer is correct! Please proceed to the next room.”

They all ran into the final room with Sayaka being the last to enter as the voice chimed overhead again, “there are 3 minutes remaining.”

“It’s another electrical engineering question,” Akiko said as she approached the board. “An electric motor that runs at 3/4 of its full-load potential of 200 amperes is operating at how many amps?” She hesitated staring at it for a moment with her eyebrows drawn together and her lips pursed.

“Just answer it then Akiko!” Kaoru snapped.

“I have to think this is something that was new to me at school too,” she replied.

“Well we don’t have time!” Kaoru snarled. Sayaka glared at him. Not that she liked the militants much before, but Kaoru had done literally nothing to contribute to their success so far in the game.

“Let her think!” Sayaka yelled. Kaoru rounded on her.

“Why don’t you shut your mouth! We’ve already determined you’re not executive material,” Kaoru replied acting like he would’ve even been remotely apart of that decision.

“I don’t give a damn about being an executive. I just want to survive. More than I can say for you. What have you done to help us through this so far!?” Sayaka snapped at him rage bubbling in her chest.

“Me?! What have you done?” Kaoru screeched tossing a desk to the side as he approached her, “besides acting like you’re the fucking leader around here! I’m the one with the gun. I’m in charge!” He snapped waving the hand gun in the air before pointing it towards Sayaka.

“Why don’t I just get rid of you?” He growled baring his teeth.

“Oh yea? Because that’s going to make you feel so much fucking better!” Sayaka waved her hands in the air, “about being a goddamn waste of spa—“ she was cut off by the voice overhead.

“That answer is INCORRECT!” The ceiling started dropping, and Sayaka and Kaoru snapped around the Akiko.

“What the fuck Akiko!?” Kaoru called.

“I’m trying!” She snapped frantically erasing her work on the board with the back of her hand.

“Two minutes remaining.”

“Akiko come on!”

“Shut the fuck up for once!” Sayaka screamed.

Kaoru turned around and tossed more desks aside so he could jam the handgun into Sayaka’s chest, “tell me to shut up again, I fucking dare you!” He snarled baring his teeth.

“Go for it,” she dared.

“For someone who says they’re trying to survive. You’ve got a real fucking death wish,” he hissed.

“Maybe I’m just calling your bluff,” she replied staring at him. She could see the hesitation in his eyes. No one wanted to be here, and no one certainly wanted to kill anyone. Well, at least they didn’.

“That answer is correct! Please proceed out of the building.” They both snapped out of their stare down to the door as it slid open.

“There are 30 seconds remaining.”

Akiko and Kuzuryu scrambled out the door, followed closely by Daichi and Kaoru was close behind. Sayaka ran towards the door jumping over the desk Kaoru had flung to the side, and vaulting herself over the next one. She ran a few paces before dropping onto her side sliding through the half blocked doorway.

The door slammed shut behind her and Sayaka laid on the cold pavement of the parking lot with a sigh as her phone lit up and chimed. “Congratulations! Game cleared. A 6 day visa has been issued to all participants.” Sayaka looked at the phone before tossing it across the lot.

“Fuck off,” she muttered letting her head rest back against the pavement.

“Are you alright Sayaka?” Akiko asked from where she was sitting.

“Yea, I’m okay,” she breathed before laughing and throwing her arm over her eyes, “fuck. They took the name Trivia Crush way too seriously.”

“That’s for sure,” Akiko chuckled.

“Hey!” They both glanced over at the boys, “let’s get going!” Kuzuryu said.

“Alright, alright, we’re coming,” Sayaka grumbled as she sat up.

Akiko smiled and held a hand out to her helping her to her feet. Kaoru came up behind her and smacked her ass before leaning down towards her ear, “great job in there kitten. What do you say we celebrate in my room when we get back?” he cooed.

“Uh, yea we could,” she mumbled putting a hand to his chest.

“Sounds good to me kitten,” he smacked her ass again before heading to the car ahead of them.

Sayaka frowned looking at Akiko, “charming.”

She gave her a sheepish look, “yea…”

“You could do better,” Sayaka mumbled watching Kaoru talk with Daichi at the car, “even here.”

“I guess…”

“Let’s get going!” Kaoru called.

“Let’s go home,” Akiko said looking at Sayaka before heading to the car.

Sayaka hesitated, “if that’s what you want to call it.”

#I spent forever trying to find a stupid calculus problem but gave up #working on chapter 3 but super hate it so that's fun #alice in borderland #Alice in borderland oc #original character #my writing #stuck in borderland

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baoshan-sanren · 4 years

Text

Part 17

to the fucking NieLan arranged marriage AU I can’t stop thinking about - I’m really temped to name this “How To Communicate With Your Husband: A Narrative in Many Parts by Lan XiChen and Nie MingJue”

By the time they are pushed into Wen RuoHan’s gaudy receiving hall, MingJue has reached some semblance of calm.

All battle plans are only certain until the first arrow leaves the bow, and this one is no different. It would be easy to lose himself in rage over this betrayal; to question every word Wen Qing had ever spoken, every message her brother had sent. She had looked equally as shocked when they found themselves surrounded, but it makes little difference, whether her shock was genuine or an act. Whether he still dare trust her is equally as irrelevant.

The City gates have likely been breached by now, but the battle is still distant, and the palace is still under the Wen Sect control. Only a dozen people he trusts know his exact plans, and only half of those could accurately guess MingJue’s current location in the Nightless City. There will be no rescue. There will be no lucky escape. He must make peace with having lost this battle, and take comfort in knowing that the war will be won nonetheless.

Wen RuoHan is sitting in an exaggerated monstrosity of a Sect Leader’s chair, an enormous gold sun rising above his head, the entire contraption set on a platform, and resembling an emperor’s throne. A boy is standing at his right shoulder, his face blank and expressionless. Another dozen Wen Sect cultivators are lined up against the walls. There is someone kneeling on the floor in front of the platform, their head bent and hidden by a river of dark hair, their robes tattered and rust colored. It is the person’s back that catches MingJue’s gaze, crisscrossed with whip marks, a devastating length of torn skin and ruined flesh.

It takes MingJue a single breath to recognize the kneeling form. In the next, his calm is swept away in a fury that defies words. There are no coherent thoughts to his actions, no finesse, no calculation of any kind. He has never needed the saber to kill. The Wen Cultivator who had pushed him into the hall dies with a mask of shock on his face, the bones of his neck shattering in MingJue’s grip. The man’s sword, graceful and light, feels unfamiliar in MingJue’s hand. But a blade is a blade, and two more cultivators lose their limbs before the rest can react. MingJue can hear nothing but his own howl of rage. He cannot feel any pain. He is bleeding from dozens of cuts, and six men are dead by the time Wen RuoHan’s guards manage to knock him down to the ground.

Wen RuoHan seems completely unruffled, still sprawled on his throne, as if he had expected no less than a full blown slaughter in his hall.

“A-Lin,” he says, “is there anything you would like to say to your sister, before she is put to death?”

The boy at his shoulder is staring straight ahead, and his voice comes out thin but steady.

“I have no sister.”

MingJue hears Wen Qing make a sound of distress, but does not turn to look at her. He cannot look away from the kneeling shape in front of the platform.

He is aware that the hall is now guarded by less than a dozen cultivators, and that Wen RuoHan is unlikely to have more at hand. He can hear the roar from outside the palace, a barely perceptible sound of the Jiang Sect battle drums, but neither is growing any louder. Wen RuoHan would have sent every last man he can spare to hold the palace. The possibility of a rescue seems even less viable now, than it had been only minutes ago.

But everything is secondary to XiChen.

He is utterly motionless, his breaths barely discernible, as if deep in meditation, removed from the world around him. How can he stay so still? How can he bear the pain? The whip marks on his back cross one another so many times, that no lines can be distinguished. They must have cut down to the bone.

He does not think that he has ever truly hated Wen RuoHan before. The man is an old fool. Only old fools believe that they are somehow destined for greatness, despite their utter insignificance in the world. It is hard to hate fools, and easier to pity them. But MingJue hates him now, with a passion that feels annihilating.

“Both your sons are dead,” MingJue says, “One may have been killed by the Violet Spider, and the other on the field of battle, but they both died on the orders of a butcher. How feeble is the product of your loins, when I can have it killed without dirtying my hands? You should thank me,” he grins up at Wen RuoHan, “for eliminating such incompetence from your bloodline.”

A hilt of a sword slams into the back of his head, and he pitches forward, the blood from his mouth spraying across the stone floors.

Wen RuoHan rises from his vulgar throne, and slowly makes his way down the platform steps, the boy following behind him.

“You mean to provoke me to fight I suppose,” he says, “but there is no honor in winning against you.”

He passes by XiChen as if he does not exist, and steps lightly over the cultivator MingJue had killed. The cultivator’s sword, he carelessly kicks to the side. The boy following behind him bends over to pick it up, the movement perfunctory, as if picking up objects Wen RuoHan kicks out of the way is a matter of habit, rather than conscious thought. Wen RuoHan, who is only a few steps away from MingJue now, pauses at the scrape of the blade against the stone, and turns with a small frown.

“Put that down, A-Lin. You know I do not allow--“

There is no change in the boy’s expression. No shifting of balance, no sideways glance, no movement to his lips. The same casual movement with which he had picked up the sword, carries the sword upward, and buries the tip in the hollow of Wen RuoHan’s throat.

Time seems to stop.

No one moves. Not the boy, not the Wen cultivators utterly frozen around them, not even Wen RuoHan, whose blood is sliding down the blade to the boy’s hand. There is a soft gurgle from his throat, and his fingers twitch, as if he means to reach up and remove the tip of the blade himself. Now, there is a shadow of an expression on the boy’s face, a faint wrinkle in his forehead. He steps forward, and the blade punches out of the back of Wen RuoHan’s neck, the blade sickeningly grinding against the bones of his spine. Wen RuoHan’s knees finally fold. The boy, seemingly surprised that the blade is still in his hand, releases the hilt and steps back, which is somehow the most amazing, but also the most ridiculous thing MingJue has ever seen.

He moves before Wen RuoHan’s body manages to hit the ground, his hands closing around the hilt while the men around him are still frozen in shock. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Wen Qing moving at the same time, snatching up the sword from one of the dead men, and immediately tuning on the live ones. The battle is short and bloody, the Wen sluggish in their shock. Four of them are dead before the rest decide that dropping their blades and surrendering is a far better option.

“Run,” Wen Qing snaps at them, “Tell the others that there is nothing left to fight for.”

They are moving before the words have even left her mouth completely, not one of them sparing a glance for the motionless body of their Sect Leader.

Wen Qing immediately turns to her brother, her expression both furious and relieved. MingJue can hear her questioning the change in their plans, and Wen Ning’s hesitant replies. But he no longer cares about their failed strategies.

XiChen is still on his knees, unmoving, and MingJue feels genuine fear for the first time since entering the underground tunnel.

He kneels in front of him, noticing a thousand details at once. XiChen’s hands resting on his knees. The blood under his fingernails. Abrasions around his wrists that look raw and angry, as if the top layer of skin had been scraped off. The thickness of his hair, even dirty and matted with old blood, covering him like a cape. His head is bent, and his face not visible, but he is breathing. MingJue can see him breathing.

“XiChen?”

There is a barely perceptible flinch, but nothing more.

MingJue reaches out, then hesitates. He cannot guess how deep XiChen had drifted, or what the consequences could be, of pulling him out too fast.

“XiChen.”

Another flinch, followed by a slight tremor. XiChen’s fingers curl into the flesh of his legs, and the tremor becomes a full-body shiver, so violent, that MingJue can hear his teeth click. A soft gasp leaves him, then a slightly louder one, and MingJue does not have time to react before XiChen is gasping urgently as if he had ran for hours, his body tilting sideways and towards the floor. Terrified of hurting him more, MingJue does not dare grab any part of him to prevent the fall, but shifts his body so XiChen would sway into him instead. Even so, XiChen’s ravaged shoulder connects with MingJue’s, and he whimpers, palms coming up against MingJue’s chest, as if to push himself away.

“XiChen,” MingJue says again, feeling helpless.

The shivers do not cease, but the palms pressed against his chest curl in, gathering handfuls of material in a tight grip. His head is still bowed, and it shakes once, viciously, as if in denial.

“No,” he rasps, “Not-- real.”

“XiChen,” his own voice is hoarse, something painful and bitter lodged in the back of his throat.

XiChen lifts his head slowly, eyes wide and shining, shock obvious in every line of his face. His hands scramble up, his fingers brushing over MingJue’s jaw and cheekbone, as if needing to ensure that he is real.

“Is-- how?” he breathes, “Are you really--“

MingJue cups his hand over his own cheek, careful of the scraped wrist, “I am truly here.”

“Oh,” XiChen gasps, “Oh!”

He throws himself forward with no warning, arms wrapping around MingJue’s neck, feverish cheek pressing against MingJue’s own. Just as quickly, he is pulling back, face contorted in pain. His trembling hands reach up again, and cup MingJue’s face. Fingers flutter over his temples, his cheeks, his chest. They brush over his shoulders, his arms, XiChen’s frantic gaze following the touch, as if somehow trying to see all of him at once.

It takes MingJue a few moments to understand what XiChen is doing, but when he does, the realization strikes him like a blade to the heart.

“I am not hurt,” he says, trapping the man’s restless hands with his own.

“There is blood,” XiChen rasps, “you are bleeding.”

“I am not hurt, XiChen. I am fine.”

As if only now realizing where he is, XiChen jerks his head in panic, gaze falling on the empty throne. His eyes sweep over the carnage on the floor, the bodies twisted in pool of blood, and settle on the heap of gold and crimson robes.

“Is--“

“Dead. He is dead.”

XiChen shivers, and closes his eyes. His hands are tight around MingJue’s, and he says nothing else, breathing deeply and deliberately, as if struggling for composure. In this moment, their fingers entwined, their heads so close together that MingJue can feel each exhale on his skin, all else in the world ceases to matter.

MingJue will give him all the time that he needs.

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bandzrus · 4 years

Text

The No Fun Tour (Part 16)

The Dirt!Tommy Lee x Reader

Masterlist

SUMMARY // You’ve been working as a roadie for Motley Crue for a number of years because of your interest in the music business and family connections with Doc. The boys just got off tour with Ozzy and things are looking promising for them. After babysitting Tommy for the last leg of the tour, the two of you admitted your feelings for one another. Your relationship is now out in the open, and you’re still trying to adjust.

NOTE // well this chapter took me waaaaay too long to write. I’m also not very happy with it, but it’s a filler chapter so I’ll live a guess. Only 4 more until TNFT is over! Crazy right?

WORDS // 2897

TAGLIST // @mainly-me @shamelessobsessions @broken-pieces @calspixie @shouttatthedevill @cigarettes-after-sexxx @thatbandchick39 @buckyofthemyscira @countrygirlswonderland @kawennote09 @tommyfuckinlee @miserablecunt @madsthegroupie @livingforrt @catsoo12 @whisky-a-go-go @motherloovebone @rysepieces98 @kickstartmyheartmc @voguesixx @marvelismylifffe @iluvmesomemarvelndc @princesof-theuniverse @cordysblog @everygoodusernameistaken16 @brooklyn-antiques @queens-rose-garden @fandomshit6000 @hxllywood-whxre @ladycrow666 @sandy-anakin @tamedhearts @cosmicsskies @repostsfanfics @bella-0104-123 @mustbeaweasleyginger @freddie-roger-brian-john @captainloki1 @divaanya @curlyrxth @krazykatkay456 @ratedrkohardychic91 @bohemian-war @whydoilooklikekurtcobain @xxchloejoe @imtrashlikeeveryoneelse @nassauartist @teddyboyharrison @anxieteaandsadboihours @thekidbakerinthetardis @bohorhap @allmyheart2 @darcytherandom @kitten-overdose @allie-mcginn @aliensforleaders @premiumcable @snitchthewitch @heavymetalprincessa @applcrumbl @pixrcethesirens @samantha2247-blog @goodoldfashionedqueen @sweetdayme4427 @writingmyanxietiesaway @therocketqueensaje @swoopygorl @chasityquinn @yesloverboy @scarecrowmax @vintageratdoctor @imtheonetheycalldrfeelgood @supertravelerofbothtimespacefan @totallynotkaibiased @anxious-diabetic @liebe-ist-ein-wildes-tier @perriwiinkle @itsametaphorbriansblog @juliarose21 @superstitiousinstincts @angstydogblog @99percentsure @knightwhosaysnii @motleybitxh @littlesunnymoon @joes-milk @everlinachevalier @vnathaliexisabelv @slowandangry @floregrohlssard @thoughtfullyscreechingphantom @thanks2pete @crazysaladchopshop @grungegirlfungirl @killer-queen-ofrhye @countryday @zoe0401 @lighthousefromthesea @mgirl08 @momothepeachgirl @luv4fandoms @katysfunsized @snatchedbylele @weakmoony-stuff @keepcalm-and-beyou @sincereleygmg @samanthadegaro @isabellarose5150 @letslyn @iwanttoberogersdrums @hailey-the-heathen @falcon-arrows @iiwontgiveuponmilkk @saturatedsunrise99 @fayereed15 @random-internet-user-4471 @high-voltage-rockandroll @defin8lyhetero @am-tired-bois @thexbasketcase @terminallydisorganised @samanddeanstolethetardis221b @samanthaofanarchy @cruebaby @ panics-at-the-everywhere @myheartdesirepure @volcaniccth @babypink224221 @tommy-lee-81 @oh-well1 @rosie-sixx @softommy @its-hope-babe @florenceivy @anotherhopefulgirl @lain-ee @star-incandescent @sharon6713 @irishhiggins @obsessivecompulsivedestructive @verywell-fandango @valentines-in-london @ggore-horror @samanthajbenbow @freddiessmallnipples @d0ntfitin @vamprlestat @yourfavbabymom @lauravic @the-soulless-spider @kellysimagines @princesadeltoro @kajk9727 @looksthatkill666 @rocknrollcantdie @kohanayaki @letdecemberburninflames @fanofnightz @leterscam @impartinghades @forthe-culture @blackrose8898 @chlobo6 @gnrskrt @tommyleeownsme @anyasthoughts @keithseabrook27 @nikki-six-is-daddy @phoenixbloodmoon @madeofsunshineandsugar @imgonnakillgod @yellow--inlove @accio--jesse @babybloomer @no-shxt-sherl ((sorry for not activating any of the tags; I had to remake this whole post and it takes FOREVER))

***

You couldn’t wrap your head around it. It had been days and you still couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that you and Tommy had been given the clear. It didn’t feel real. Which was funny in and of itself, because when did you and Tommy dating in secret start to feel real? It was just strange to think that the two of you could go out or talk about whatever you wanted and not have to watch yourselves. You didn’t have to worry about how much physical contact you were making, or how long Tommy was staring at you anymore. You could just… hold hands whenever you freaking felt like it.

Which you did. A lot.

So much so that Mick started making gagging noises whenever the two of you walked into the recording booth. The boys had been going in to record more and more lately, and you kept coming along for the ride. It was an easy way to spend time with them, since your time together with Motley Crue was going to be coming to an end in a month and a half. You’d still see them, just not nearly as much as you had in the past. It was going to be weird. Just as weird as you and Tommy being out and official.

“I was going to go out for coffee, you boys want anything?” you asked, leaning your hip on the doorframe of the recording room. Motley Crue was crowded onto the couches around a shrine of empty bottles, cans, ashtrays, fast-food wrappers, and scribbly lyric sheets. Tommy leaned backward over the back of the couch and gave you a big smile.

“Tall, black?” he said.

“Of course.”

“Can you do a booze run too, Y/N?” asked Vince. He draped his arm over the back of the couch and tried to imitate Tommy’s signature puppy dog eyes. You always pictured the blond more as a scraggly cat.

“It’s 2pm Vince.”

“So?”

“It’s 5 o’clock somewhere!” Nikki said in an attempt to convince you. He still had a half-full bottle in his hand.

“The coffee shop is 5 minutes away, the liquor store is 20,” you sighed.

“Ah, come on, Y/N, please?” begged Vince. At this point in your career, you should have been invincible to the band’s pouting. But you weren’t. You let out a sigh.

“Fine. Just beer?”

“Daniels.”

“Anything else?”

“My groceries?” asked Mick, before he stopped himself. “Wait, never mind. Your hands have been on Tommy, I don’t want you contaminating my food.”

The band laughed.

“So tall black coffee, beer, and Daniels – got it,” you repeated, smiling at Mick’s tease anyway.

“Oh!” Nikki shot up. “If that guy down the street is selling hot dogs—“

“Fuck yeah, dude, those are killer ‘dogs!”

“Get the ‘dogs!”

“The ‘dogs! The ‘dogs! The ‘dogs!” the boys all started to chant. Laughing, you pulled your hip off the doorframe.

“Tall black coffee, beer, Daniels, and ‘dogs; I’ll be back,” you chuckled, giving them a wave and then sliding out of the building. You shook your head and smiled to yourself. Every damn day you spent with those boys they made you laugh. Tucking your hair behind your ear, you headed towards the coffee shop. The hotdog stand was on the way, and you prayed the guy was actually there today. You knew what kind of wrath you’d face if you came back empty-handed.

As you walked, you realized Tommy hadn’t offered to come with. Usually he’d abandon whatever the boys were working on to tag along with you. They had been working pretty hard on their new album (which sounded amazing, and they still had a long way to go), so maybe he just wanted to stay and work on it, but now that you’d thought about it, it was going to nag you. Was something going on? You’d spent enough time with Motley Crue to pick up signs that they were planning something.

Back in the recording studio, Tommy and the boys waited until you had left before they all huddled around the table.

“So what’s the game plan, T-bone?” asked Nikki, taking a quick swig of his drink and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Mick pulled his guitar into his lap.

“When she comes backs,” said Tommy, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Vinny, can you introduce the song?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Sweet.”

“Are we just going to start playing it then when Y/N comes through the door?” Mick cocked an eyebrow.

“That was the thought.”

“You have those?”

Vince and Nikki laughed and then Vince slapped the drummer on the back.

“It’s going to be great, Tommy, she’s gonna love it,” promised the singer.

“I fucking hope so, otherwise I’m going to look like a dumbass!”

“I think Y/N is into dumbasses.”

“Shut up, Mick.”

You’d overestimated how far away the liquor store was. It was probably more like 15 minutes; 10 from the coffee shop. Any normal person probably would have felt weird carrying a large coffee, three bottles of Jack Daniels, and a case of beer all together, but you were used to it. The hotdog guy obviously wasn’t bothered by it either. Coffee and case of beer in one hand, bag of Jack Daniels and hotdogs in the other, you somehow managed to get the studio door open with your foot.

“I’m back,” you called, waiting for it to shut before you headed to the recording room. You were trying to make sure you didn’t trip over any empty bottles and spill everything you were precariously balancing in your arms, when Vince’s voice got your attention.

“And next up we have a song called ‘Without You’,” the singer announced. “Written by Mr. Tommy Lee for the lovely Y/F/N.” He gave you a huge smile, and then a big sweeping gesture. You stood there in the doorway, cradling hotdogs as all the boys began to play.

Without you, there's no change

My nights and days are gray

If I reached out and touched the rain

It wouldn't feel the same

Without you, I'd be lost

I'd slip down from the top

I'd slide down so low

Girl, you'd never, never know

Without you, without you

A sailor lost at sea

Without you, woman

The world comes down on me

They all joined in for the chorus, and maybe it was just you, but Tommy was singing the loudest. You had been pestering him to sing more (ever since Gilligan’s Island), and in that moment it was the sweetest thing you’d ever heard. Vince might have been singing the rest of the song, but when you saw Tommy, you knew it was really him singing it to you.

Without you in my life I'd slowly wilt and die But with you by my side You're the reason I'm alive But with you in my life You're the reason I'm alive But without you, without you

Without you, there's no change My nights and days are gray If I reached out and touched the rain It wouldn't feel the same

Without you, without you I'm a sailor lost at sea Without you, woman The world comes down on me

You were crying. There in the hallway with your arms full of booze, coffee, and hotdogs, you were crying. You weren’t a crier, but this was the song Mick had told you about over the phone that night after the tour. This was the song Tommy had been working on. This was the one song you hadn’t heard them play yet and now you knew why.

Without you in my life

I'd slowly wilt and die

But with you by my side

You're the reason I'm alive

But with you in my life

You're the reason I'm alive

But without you, without you

I could face a mountain

But I could never climb alone

I could start another day

But how many, I don't know

You're the reason, the sun shines down

And the nights, they don't grow cold

Only you that I'll hold when I'm young

Only you, as we grow old

Without you in my life

I'd slowly wilt and die

But with you by my side

You're the reason I'm alive

In most cases you watched the whole band when they performed. But right now you had eyes only for Tommy. He wasn’t looking as his drums either; just at you. As the song wound down, you finally remembered you had stuff in your arms and quickly deposited it on what available table space there was. Your hands were free just as Vince put down the mic.

“Oh my god!” you cried, hastily scrubbing your cheeks with the backs of your hands. “Did you write that, Tommy?!” You knew he had, but nothing could have prepared you for this.

The drummer had put down his drumsticks and was making his way over to you when you threw your arms around him.

“Did you seriously write that? It’s beautiful!”

“Yeah,” said Tommy, blushing. His hands felt warm around your waist.

“Tommy it’s amazing!” You planted a kiss on him.

“I wrote it for you.”

And there it was again. Every DAMN time! You didn’t think you could love him any more and then he did something and somehow you did. For fucks sake he wrote a song about you! Not only was it the most romantic thing anybody had ever done for you EVER, you knew from years of experience with music that once somebody wrote a song about you – you became immortal.

“Holy shit Tommy, I can’t believe it.”

“So you liked it then?”

“Liked it?! Tommy, I swear to god there is NOTHING that could make me love you more right now.”

The drummer finally stopped fighting the smile he had been holding back.

“Wanna bet?”

“GET A ROOM!” shouted Mick, causing the both of you to start laughing. Still hugging the drummer for all you were worth, you shuffled over to the couch where the rest of the band was congregating.

“I can’t believe you guys did that for me,” you breathed, wiping your nose and smiling up at Tommy. “I can’t believe you wrote the song, AND made me walk 15 minutes to the damn liquor store just so you could surprise me with a concert when I got back!”

The boys all chuckled and ducked their heads. They looked so cute and suddenly you were struck with a wave of sadness. You were going to miss them all so much.

“It was all Tommy’s idea,” Mick confessed. “We just went along with it ‘cause we knew it’d make you happy.”

“Since Mick’s not gonna say it,” sighed Vince. “We’re all really going to miss you, Y/N.”

It was your turn to laugh, but you could tell the blond caught the tinge of sadness in it.

“I’m not gone yet, guys.”

“Not to ruin this touching moment or anything, but you got the ‘dogs right?” Nikki asked, sliding back onto the couch. Everyone started laughing and you could feel the sadness leave the room again.

“Right in front of you, Nik,” Tommy gestured, his hand still resting warmly on your waist.

Motley Crue had finished their studio session about an hour ago. All the guys went their separate ways, but Tommy suggested the two of you go for a walk instead of just heading home right away. The air was fresh and it was still light out, plus it was quality time with the drummer. Hell yes you wanted to go for a walk.

Somehow being on tour had made you forget how much you loved LA. You’d spent a lot of time walking the streets in the early days of Motley Crue. There were so many beautiful houses and little stores that showed off just how unique a place it really was. It didn’t surprise you at all that so many people came here to follow their dreams – there was something for everyone. You smiled inwardly knowing you were one of them, and you’d succeeded. It was almost a little scary how perfect your life seemed right now. A tiny part of you was waiting for the hammer to drop, but you kept reminding yourself that it already had when Doc found out about you and Tommy.

You and the drummer had been walking probably for an hour when you came upon a park. It was getting late, the sun was going down, and the park was empty.

“Wanna sit down for a bit?” Tommy asked, eyeing up a bench.

“Only if we get to sit on the playground,” you smiled, tugging at his jacket to follow you.

“Are we five?”

“Maaaaybe.”

It had been a long time since you’d been on a playground. You’d always been a monkey-bar fiend as a kid and you made a mental note for later to see if you still were. Clambering up, you laughed as Tommy tried to scale the fire-pole in leather pants and cowboy boots. Finally you had to give him a hand. Hauling his dumbass up, the two of you sat on the highest platform and leaned against the rail.

“The sunset looks cool,” you pointed out. The clouds were all pink, and just where the buildings interrupted the horizon, the sky was liquid fire.

“You look pretty cool,” mocked Tommy, bumping your knee with his. The fucker was so damn cute. You snuggled into his side and pushed your hand into his. How insane was this.

“I still can’t believe this is all happening,” you said, finally voicing what had been circulating around in your head since your conversation with Doc.

“The us-allowed-to-date part, or the management part?”

“Both.”

“Yeah, it is kinda insane,” agreed Tommy, resting his head again the rail and looking up at the sky. You wished you had your camera on you – he looked beautiful.

“It doesn’t really feel real. I keep waiting for the hammer to drop or for me to wake up or something.”

“Me too.”

“I’m glad it is real.”

“I really don’t know if I could survive if it wasn’t,” Tommy said. His chin came to rest on top of your head and you wanted to sit there forever with him. He smelled good; like Tommy. The two of you watched the sky for a while, enjoying the quiet; something that didn’t happen often in Motley Crue, until Tommy broke the silence.

“Did you really like the song?” he asked, rubbing his thumb in circles over your hand. The look you gave him should have said it all.

“Tommy, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You really mean that?”

“One-hundred and ten percent.”

“Mkay. Just wanted to make sure,” the drummer blushed.

“If I kiss you, will you stop doubting yourself like an idiot?” you inquired, leaning in until there was barely an inch between your lips.

“Yes,” promised Tommy.

So you did. Gentle and tender; probably the softest you’d ever kissed him. Reaching your hands up to his hair, you felt the drummer’s rough ones pull you close. And then you kissed him again – longer this time (and maybe a little harder). You could feel him smile into it. Shifting so you could get a better angle, it wasn’t long before the whole thing turned into a damn make-out session. After a few minutes you had to pull back and laugh.

“Oh my god,” you snickered. “I feel like I’m in fucking high school.”

“It’s the playground.”

“No, it’s us making out like a bunch of idiots.”

“Does that mean you wanna stop?”

“Fuck no.”

Straddling Tommy’s lap, it was your turn to smile into the kiss. Making a cute little noise as Tommy’s kisses moved from your lips down your jawbone, you settled into his lap. The drummer’s lips were still heading south, and you shuddered under the touch of his fingers as they tugged at your collar.

“Tommy,” you mumbled, brushing your hair out of his way.

“Mm?”

“What are you doing?”

The drummer stopped his kisses for a brief moment to answer, but his hands were starting to lift up the hem of your shirt.

“Nothing.”

Your hands were knit deep in his hair, and it was taking a bit more concentration than it should have to keep quiet. The LA air was starting to cool off and as it hit your skin, you felt yourself break out in goosebumps. Tommy’s warm knuckles against your stomach as he felt under your shirt were a welcome feeling. That and the drummer knew what to do with his damn hands.

“Tommy,” you tried again, feeling your willpower to say no to him decrease by the second. “We probably shouldn’t be doing this at a park.”

“Mm, but doesn’t it make you feel like just a little bit of a rebel?” asked the drummer, his hands getting dangerously high and his lips dangerously low.

“I’ve been a rebel for a long time.”

“I guess so – you decided to go out with me.”

“Yes.”

“Do you wanna –“ he paused for a moment, finally bringing his lips back to yours. “—go back to my place?”

To answer his question, you sank a little lower into his lap.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Tommy smirked, grabbing your hand and pulling you down the slide.

***

sorry guys! I don’t know what happened to this post - it was fine up until December 8th. Hopefully it stays put now. :(

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the-golden-ghost · 3 years

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I’m bored and so I’m gonna make one of those “rip off some Youtuber’s hard-made list with my own BS opinions” posts. This is Tumblr and it won’t show in the tags anyway and hell I’m giving credit so it’s fine.

Today I will be going through a Blast From the Past and looking at a list of Dark n’ Scary Disney Moments. Made by WatchMojo here.

Anyway

20. Tadashi Dies - Big Hero 6: I never saw this movie but it looks like your pretty standard Disney death where there’s like an intense-but-not-too-graphic thing and then a hard cut to a funeral. Would probably be sadder if I had actually seen the movie but I agree, it’s pretty fucked up!

19. The Firebird - Fantasia 2000: OKAY YEAH THIS SCARED THE EVERLOVING FUCK OUT OF ME AS A KID. I saw this movie when I was 5 years old and it was one of the first (maybe THE first!?) movies I ever saw in theaters. That jumpscare still haunts me, man.

18. The Ghost of Christmas Future - Mickey’s Christmas Carol: I loved this movie as a kid but I wasn’t really scared by it even then. That being said, it’s still a pretty creepy scene, but I’ve seen scarier versions of this, even in kid’s movies. The fact that the ghost was smoking a fucking CIGAR had me cackling though I mean -

17. Hellfire - The Hunchback of Notre Dame: This whole damn MOVIE was dark. But that’s what you get when you adapt Victor Hugo for kids, I guess (seriously, why though!?) I definitely like this movie more as an adult, mostly cause half the themes went over my head as a kid. Including the ones in this song. But DAMN is it a bop and the visuals are stunning.

16. The Headless Horseman - The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad: Yeah I never saw this as a kid to my knowledge but... I’ll be honest, that’s pretty scary even watching it NOW as an adult. Damn.

15. Facilier Goes to Hell - The Princess and the Frog: Yeah that’s pretty terrifying too. I was a teenager when this came out so it didn’t creep me out that much but the music is eerie and the visuals and concept of being dragged into eternal damnation is... unsettling, to say the least! Would have terrified me as a kid I’m sure

14. Frollo Attempts to Onscreen Murder a Fucking Baby - The Hunchback of Notre Dame: How in the HELL was this given a G rating?! This was in the first ten minutes of the movie by the way. Also there IS an onscreen death - Quasimodo’s mom, a minute or two before this. Disney doesn’t usually do onscreen deaths so that’s... pretty intense, to say the least. But seriously. Yikes.

13. Night on Bald Mountain - Fantasia: Okay purely out of personal experience I found Firebird scarier, but had I seen this one in theaters as a kid I no doubt would have shit myself. Also this is one of Disney’s only exploits into showing topless women (besides the Rescuers blink-and-you’ll-miss-it thing). Nudity in a good wholesome G-rated Disney film?! It’s more likely than you think.

12. The Horned King’s Army - The Black Cauldron: Because nothing says Disney Magic like necromancy-induced zombies sent to destroy the Earth (or something, I don’t even remember what their goal was since I saw this when I was like six but still, it is indeed creepy as all fuck)

11. Maleficent Turns Into A Dragon - Sleeping Beauty: Yeah I gotta say this dragon is daunting. See, Disney, you DO know how to design a good dragon! Maybe you should take a page from your own book instead of just creating Elsa’s dragonsona?

10. The Burnt Village - Mulan: Other than the whole “Bambi’s Mom Dies and Then It’s Immediately Happy Springtime Yay” thing, this might be the biggest tone switch in a Disney movie. But this one’s on purpose and not silly, it’s... intense. Jarring. Disturbing. We go from “goofy marching song about picking up girls lol” to the complete decimation and murder of a whole village and everyone in it. Including children, as is made horribly clear...

9. Aurora Gets Hypnotized - Sleeping Beauty: I don’t even remember this scene at all. The fact that Sleeping Beauty made the list twice makes me want to go watch it again though, seems promising!

8. The Bear - The Fox and the Hound: This movie was immensely fucked up to be honest. Just... everything about it. But yeah the bear was pretty scary ngl

7. Big Ursula - The Little Mermaid: Yeesh. Okay yeah Big Ursula was pretty freaky. Definitely gave me the creeps as a kid. Also the way she dies from getting IMPALED is um... a little dark, perhaps? Just a bit?

6. Pink Elephants - Dumbo: This isn’t exactly creepy, at least not as far as I can see, mostly it looks like they just needed to pad the film out so they decided to uh... put a drug trip scene in. Dumbo is already really short so it would make sense they needed to up the runtime and just told the animators “go ham” and BOY DID THEY EVER

5. The Dip - Who Framed Roger Rabbit: Uh yeah you’d think “death by torture” would be a place Disney wouldn’t go but I guess they’re fine with it actually? Granted this was live-action mostly but... still. Come on. That’s just fucked up.

4. Clayton Dies - Tarzan: I mean they didn’t show it like... really show it but the quick shot of his shadow on the tree is uh. Yikes. I actually missed that detail as a kid but I’m glad I did cause I would have been creeped out!

3. Lampwick Turns Into a Donkey - Pinocchio: Okay see I kinda want to know how THIS movie got rated G as well considering the underage drinking and weird sexual references. But this scene is also uh... disturbing. And actually the whole concept of the “turning kids into donkeys and selling them into eternal slavery” thing is wild and... yeah HOW was this movie rated G again? I know the book was written by some weirdo who wanted to terrify kids into good behavior. Idk why they made a Disney film out of it.

2. Bambi’s Mom Dies - Bambi: I actually don’t remember this scene all that much cause I haven’t seen Bambi in ages. But I know it’s iconic. It comes off as more sad than dark, though, but I guess “sad” kinda ties in with dark so I’ll let it slide.

1. Mufasa Gets Murdered - The Lion King: Okay yeah that’s pretty messed up I’ll admit it. I know it’s Furry Hamlet but let’s be honest we all saw this WAY before we knew what Hamlet was. I sometimes think the Lion King is a bit overrated but I have to admit - the visuals in this scene are AMAZINGLY good.

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 4 years

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Flatbush & Atlantic: part iv

And here’s part iv! I’d love it if y’all would reblog, this is a work I’m really proud of and the more people it’s shared with the better! My inbox is always open, and I’d love to hear your thoughts, even if it’s just “AAAAAH.” Enjoy!

part i part ii part iii

part iv

December 12

Cass grimaced, looking over at the tab on her laptop that had the Islanders game open. They were down 3-1 late in the third, and it didn’t look like they were going to be able to pull it off. It was the last game of a ten day roadie, and they had lost all but one against the Red Wings right at the beginning. And the Wings were 10-21, so it wasn’t even a confidence booster. To make matters worse, Mat was on a points drought; he hadn’t gotten an assist, let alone scored, since the first game of the trip, a 4-1 loss to the Blue Jackets. They also were playing a few players down, an MCL sprain and the ever-vague “lower body injury” kept the team from being at full strength.

As the game came to a close, she didn’t even know if Mat wanted to talk to her. His relentless dedication was one of her favorite things about him, but it also led him to take things way too personally and be way too hard on himself even when — especially when — the situation didn’t call for it. He was probably beating himself up as the boys headed back into the locker room, being short with his teammates and trainers and whatever poor sports reporter had been sent to ask “how they planned on snapping this unfortunate streak” in the post-game interviews. He’d never be deliberately mean or unkind to anyone, but just like anyone, her boyfriend got stressed and overwhelmed and didn’t always know how to deal with it. I saw the game, she texted him, I’m proud of you. Call me if you want.

Dec. 15 (wed)

Mat had barely spoken to her since the return from the roadie, and it was starting to get on her nerves. Texts were responded with single words, if they were answered at all. They were supposed to have visited the Met yesterday , but that hadn’t happened either. He had cancelled, saying that “some team thing came up” and he wouldn’t be able to make it. Barely apologized. And what pissed Cass of more than almost anything was that she wanted to help, she wanted so badly for him to just talk to her, she wouldn’t judge him or make him feel like he was a shitty player or a shitty person, but she couldn’t do that if he wasn’t even picking up her damn calls. Who do you talk to when there’s almost nobody in the world who understands the position you’re in?

Maybe that was just it. She’d go to the people who did understand. Paige had added her to the WAGs Whatsapp group the week prior, and from everything she had gathered so far, it was exactly the sort of place to go for advice. Cass pulled up the chat, torn between not wanting to seem like she was oversharing but not really sure what else she could do. Hey, guys, she started. Mat’s been taking the losing streak pretty personally (as I’m sure a lot of your guys are) and seems to be pulling away. Any advice? I don’t want to push him but I know it’ll get worse if he just keeps it all bottled inside. Clicking send, Cass sighed, leaning back in her desk chair and trying desperately to study for her Environmental Law final.

At some point after midnight, she closed her books and laptop with frustration. The test wasn’t until next week, but she wasn’t going to get anywhere trying to study as distracted as she was. She grabbed her phone, heading to the bathroom to brush her teeth and check the group chat. No fewer than six of the women had written back, some of whom she hadn’t even met, with long, sympathetic paragraphs overflowing with advice. She read them all, touched by the time, effort, and care that everyone has put into making her feel just a little less anxious. But the overwhelming message was clear. Find balance, but don’t let him blow you off. Be a support system, but you’re not his therapist. And repeated again and again, Talk to him.

She tapped out a message before she turned her bedside lamp off, hoping that with morning would finally come a proper response from Mat. Can we meet for coffee tomorrow morning? You know as well as I do that we need to talk. I’ll be at Donahue’s at 8.

Read: 12:23 AM

Dec. 16 (thurs)

Her foot tapped nervously, hands clasped tightly around the cup in front of her and beanie pulled over her head, curls poking out from under. He had read the text, but Cass had no clue if Mat was actually going to show up or not. He hadn’t responded. It was ten past eight, and Cass was just about ready to give up and head to school early. She had just put her laptop back in her bag when she caught Mat out of the corner of her eye. He gave her a small smile, equal parts nervous and almost — bothered? “Hey,” he said softly, unzipping his puffer coat and sliding into the chair opposite her. “You said you wanted to talk?”

Suddenly, the whole elaborate speech Cass had prepared, about letting her in and supporting him and communication, left her mind. “Yeah.”

“So, talk,” Mat said, with a slight edge to his voice.

She looked down at her cup. “I get that you’re disappointed about the losing streak. I get it and I’m sorry that you’re not doing as well as you hoped —”

“I don’t think you do get it, Cassidy —”

She cut him off. “Let me finish, Mathew. I’m sorry that you’re not doing as well as you hoped, and I do get how shitty it is when you know you’re putting in the time and effort and practice and it doesn’t seem like anything’s working, but you’ve barely talked to be about any of it.”

“‘Cause I don’t want to,” Mat mumbled.

Cass leaned back in her chair. “And I get that. I get if you don’t want to talk to me. But you’re not talking to anyone. You’re not talking to Tito, I asked him and he said you’ve been just as closed-off with the team. You’re not talking to any of the other guys. And I’d bet you’re not talking to your parents or your sister either.”

No one gets it!” Mat said in frustration, a little louder than was necessary. “I go through so much shit and have so much pressure on me and…” He trailed off for a minute. “I don’t want to disappoint the team, I don’t want to disappoint the fans. I don’t want to disappoint my family. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Everyone had their ups and downs,” Cass started.

“And I get that,” Mat said, holding his head in his hands and looking down at her coffee cup. The same white-and-blue one he had gotten her two months earlier. “But it’s hard. It’s hard when I’m feeling like the fans aren’t getting what they deserve when they come to games, and like I’m not worth what they’re paying me right now. I know you want to, but you don’t get it.”

Cass looked away, turning her eyes to the street. The sidewalk was dusted in white, turning to slush every time someone walked past. It was the first snow of the year. “Then help me to.”

He breathed out, finally relaxing a little. “It’s not that easy.”

“I want to help you,” Cass said, leaning over the table and clasping his hands in hers. “But you can’t keep freezing me out like this, chou. It’s not fair to you and it’s not fair to me.”

Mat closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. “I just don’t want this to become your thing too. You shouldn’t have to deal with this. I know right now kind of sucks for me but that’s just how it is sometimes, you know? It’s just how it is and I have to get over it. I have to get over myself.”

“Mat, your well-being and mental health isn’t something you can just ‘get over.’ Or even something you should. I’m not a professional, and if you need one that’s something we can find,” Mat wrinkled his face, and Cass was pointedly reminded how often men’s mental health was ignored, “but I’m here for you to talk to. Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

He ran his thumb over her hand. “But you didn’t sign up for this.”

Cas shook her head. “Mathew Barzal. This is exactly what I signed up for. I’m pretty smart,” he cracked a smile, “and I knew what I was getting myself into. Dating someone with such an unconventional job and schedule can be stressful, and frustrating, and confusing for everyone involved. But I chose it, Mat. I chose you.”

Dec. 21 (mon)

For once, Cass wasn’t headed straight home after work, or headed to a game, or — God forbid — back to the library to study. Her last final had been that morning, and she was free for three blessed weeks until the New Year. Which meant that she didn’t have to worry about turning in another essay or memorizing another case, which meant that she was more than free to go to the team Christmas party with Mat later that night. He had somehow been coerced into hosting, and Cass had promised to get to his apartment early to help set up. He was mostly done by the time she got there, so “setting up” turned out to mean setting up the bar and putting out snacks, Cass mixing up an enormous pitcher of her favorite sangria, a signature standby from her sorority’s Wine Wednesdays.

Mat had even put up a proper Christmas tree, and Cass smiled at the piney scent as she headed down the hallway, bag in hand. “Cool if I change in your room?” She shouted down the hall at Mat, who was currently engrossed in pouring a bowl full of chocolate-covered pretzels. “Yeah, go for it,” he called back. Cass didn’t have a lot of excuses to dress up, but liked taking advantage when the occasion called for it. Her dress was short, red satin with a slit on one side and silver embellishment on the other. She used his bathroom to touch up her makeup, swiping her burgundy lipstick on and double-checking her brows. Cass shoved her work clothes back into her backpack, tossing it onto the plush armchair in the corner of his room.

She walked down the hallway, which was pretty much bare save for a few pictures of his friends from home and one with his family on the day he was drafted. She was kind of surprised that Mat owned a single picture frame. Cass sat on the couch in his living room, looking at the Christmas tree. There were one or two Islanders ornaments, a paper Santa that she assumed had been a kindergarten art project, a photo of his family around the fireplace that looked like it had been taken a year or two earlier. Mat wrapped his arms around her, hugging her from behind. “Whatcha looking at, babe?”

She smiled. “Your ornaments. They’re really pretty.”

“Not as pretty as you.”

The door rang, Mat kissing her quickly before walking across the room to open it. A group of the younger players piled in, mostly rookies and call-ups from Bridgeport. One of them had brought along a keg of beer, and Cass had to fight back a laugh while showing him to the kitchen and setting it on the counter. He was just out of college, she’d stake her life on it. By the time she’d secured the keg and started getting people set up with drinks, the living room had started to fill up. “What can I get you?” She asked Paige, who had left Tito with the boys by the tree and made her way over to Cass.

“What are my chances of getting a Moscow mule?” Paige asked. “I don’t want to be a difficult guest, but,”

“Very good,” Cass said, turning around and grabbing the vodka and ginger ale. “We don’t have the proper mugs though, so don’t be complaining.” One shot of vodka. Half a can of ginger ale. Squeeze a lime. She had bartended for a little over a year when she first moved to New York, and it was still one of her favorite things to do for friends. Mixing herself a whiskey sour, Cass wandered back over to Mat and Tito.

---

It was well past eleven and the party was nowhere near stopping. While everyone was conscious of the noise level — for the most part, she had seen a few of the guys being reminded to use their inside voices — the conversations were still going and the drinks were still flowing. Cass had passed the tipsy point somewhere around 10:30, though she was nowhere near as hammered as some of the team. Or their dates, for that matter. She was cuddled up against Mat on the couch, heels long having since been abandoned and nursing what she was pretty sure was a vodka sprite with way too much vodka and way too little sprite. Whatever, Cass thought ruefully as she tipped the last of it back. It gets the job done.

Mat was a touchy drunk, Cass had learned, and one hand seemed to have taken up permanent residence at her waist while he sipped a beer with the other. “What do you think Christmas will be like for you?” Cass asked softly, tilting up her head to look at him. “Since you won’t be with your family.” Mat knew it was a possibility, but he was still pretty upset when he looked at the schedule and realized that his family wasn’t going to be able to fly out to spend the holidays with him, and he didn’t have enough time to go back out to Vancouver.

Her parents had extended the invitation for Mat to spend Christmas with them when she had been back up for Thanksgiving; he couldn’t make Christmas Day, but was able to carve out two days to visit. He smiled at her, leaning down and kissing the top of her head. “You’re cute when you’re worried, y’know that?” Cass scrunched up her nose. “It’s not like I’m going to be alone. I’m doing Christmas with Beau, since Paige’ll be out of town too, and some of the guys usually plan a nice dinner thing for anyone who’s not with family.”

“That sounds nice,” Cass noted, still feeling a pang of guilt.

“Hey,” Mat said, noticing her distraction. He sat up, turning her face to look towards him. “I’ll be fine. I’m a grown-ass man.”

Cass cocked an eyebrow. “Sure about that?”

Mat giggled. “Okay, okay, fine. Point taken. But yeah, it would be nice to have my family, but I kind of do, y’know?” He said, nodding around to the guys. Cass could have sworn that in that moment, her heart melted. “And I want you to spend time with yours. I’d be kind of a shitty boyfriend if I didn’t want you to.” Mat leaned in, and his lips brushed against hers so that they were almost touching but not quite, hesitantly. Cass pressed against him, her fingers finding purchase in the baby hairs at the nape of his neck. She loved that he was letting his hair grow out. He tasted like whiskey and tequila and some cheap beer that she was pretty sure was Natty Light, but she couldn’t have cared less, just like she ignored the not-so-subtle wolf-whistles from the teammates.

Everyone started clearing out around midnight, a few staying to help stuff cans and bottles into trash bags that were left unceremoniously in the kitchen to be dealt with the next morning. Cass yawned, rubbing her eyes. She had sobered up some, but was still well past the legal limit. “Whatcha doing?” Mat asked, seeing her about to order an Uber.

“Calling a ride?” Cass questioned.

“Why don’t you just stay?” Mat asked haltingly. “If you want.” Cass had obviously been over to his place before, multiple times, but hadn’t stayed the night yet. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, because she did, but it was something that was a big step for her. That meant a lot to her. But it was late, and she was sleepy, and Mat did make a really good pillow. “Okay,” she conceded.

Mat smiled, taking her hand and leading her back to his bedroom. He rummaged through his dresser, grabbing an old Thunderbirds t-shirt and athletic shorts and handing them to her as she walked into his ensuite. “I don’t have stuff to get your makeup off, but there is soap?” He offered.

Cass laughed. “I brought some wipes, but thank you. That’s really sweet.” She changed and took her makeup off, finding a spare toothbrush in one of the drawers and brushing her teeth. She popped out after a few minutes. Mat was already changed, dressed in pyjama pants and a comfy-looking heathered grey top. “The red toothbrush is mine now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he responded, cracking a smile. A few minutes later, she had claimed the left side of the bed and he had come back from the bathroom. They were lazily kissing, Mat’s hand just barely brushing the skin on her waist from where the shirt had ridden up. Cass was still tipsy and she knew Mat wouldn’t try anything, not like this, but God, it was nice just to feel close to him. After a few minutes he pulled back, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear that had fallen out of the loose messy bun she had thrown together. “What’s running through your head, babe?” He murmured.

Cass looked down, biting her lip. She was usually good with emotions, good with communication, but something about Mat made her heart skip a beat and brain go into overdrive all at once, and somehow she was convinced that it was the best feeling in the world. “I’m just really happy right now,” she breathed. “It’s Christmas, with our friends, and you...It’s everything I could want.”

Mat gave the softest smile. “You, with me, right now? That’s all I could want, Cass.”

Dec 22. (wed)

Cass zipped her suitcase shut, double-checking that she had everything she’d need for her two weeks in Connecticut. It wasn’t a big deal if she forgot something, there was probably some stuff left in her old dresser, and her little sister Eliana was about the same size. Mat had just texted that he was almost there. Cass grabbed her backpack and suitcase, stopping for a moment to pop out the final few chocolates on the Advent calendar her mom had sent down. She closed her bedroom door, wishing a harried goodbye to Ryanne and Stella, and ambled down the stairs as fast as her bags would allow her. She didn’t want Mat to have to double-park and risk getting a ticket.

True to his word, Mat was just pulling up when she came out of the building, waving one hand and double-checking the street was clear before flipping his hazards on and hopping out to help her put her bags in the trunk. Kissing him on the cheek in thanks, Cass slid into the passenger’s side, giving Mat a very pointed look when she saw that the first song on his playlist was Justin Bieber. “Don’t make fun of me,” he mumbled, blushing.

“Who said I’m making fun of you?” Cass said lightly, trying and failing to hide her smile.

They had decided that Mat would make the drive, since he was only staying two nights they had figured it would make more sense. The directions had been plugged into the Bluetooth system, and they had just made it out of the city when Mat looked over at the passenger’s seat, furrowing his brow when he saw Cass’s expression. Something was bothering her. “What’s up, babe?”

She bit her lip. “Nothing.”

“C’mon, we both decided we weren’t going to do this anymore. You don’t have to tell me if you really don’t want to, but I think you want to talk.”

Cass looked down at her lap. “I got a letter from the company that’s handling my student loans.”

“I thought you didn’t have any debt?” Mat asked quizzically.

She let out a single, humorless laugh. “That was for undergrad, and that was only because I was really, really lucky. I got some money from the school and I worked some, but that only covered about half of my costs? A little less?”

“Which leaves you with how much?”

“A hundred and ten thousand dollars, give or take. They were sending me the payment schedule, I have to start paying it back late next year.”

Mat breathed out. He knew that Cass didn’t come from money, but being from Canada and not having gone to college himself, he wasn’t really aware of just how debilitating student debt could get. “Do your parents know?” He asked gently.

Cass picked at a loose thread on her scarf. “Yeah. They helped as much as they could, but there’s three of us and they’re not made of money. “I, uh,” she paused briefly, “I told you I went to private school, yeah?” Mat nodded. “Catholic school doesn’t come cheap, so I was actually on work-study at my high school, which helped a lot. But I hated it.”

“Your school?” He questioned.

She shook her head. “No, I loved my school. It was great. I just hated feeling like a charity case. My school’s in a pretty well-off neighborhood, so most of the families there had money, and some were like proper ‘old money’ New Englanders. I had some great friends and nobody ever really outwardly was an ass about it if they knew, but still…” She trailed off.

“You felt like you never quite fit in.” Mat finished.

She nodded. “It was hard and it sucked sometimes, but that’s just how it is, I guess,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

Two hours later, Mat pulled into Manchester, following Cass’s directions down the winding roads and corners of her hometown. “Do you think they’ll like me?” He asked nervously, eyes flitting between Cass and the road in front of him.

Her brow furrowed. “Who? My family?” Mat nodded. “My family’s going to love you. You’re kind and you treat me with respect. That’s all they’ve ever wanted for me. And my brother already worships the ground you walk on, practically,” she added with a smile.

“He’s a junior, yeah?”

“Mhm,” she responded. Cass’s younger brother Noah was a junior in high school, and one of the best players on his club hockey team. Hockey didn’t run cheap and he had been lifeguarding the past few summers to pay for it, but it was all starting to pay off and he was having some interest shown by college scouts.

Mat pulled up beside the curb in front of her house, killing the engine and shoving the keys back into his pocket. Cass popped the trunk and took her backpack, while Mat got his duffel and her suitcase. She reached for his hand as they walked up the driveway, giving it a reassuring squeeze as she rang the doorbell.

“Cass!” Eliana squealed, hugging as much of her sister as she could manage around the bags. “Put your bags by the door, Dad’s grilling out back and I think Mom’s making your bed.” Mat had had an afternoon game and the two had left not long after, so it was dinnertime and Cass was ravenous. “Grilling in December?” She questioned.

Eliana shrugged, closing the door behind them. “You know Patrick, you go be the one to tell the man he can’t make burgers in the winter.” She turned to Mat, also greeting him with a hug. “You must be Mat, Cass talks about you a lot.”

Cass swatted her. “El!”

Mat chuckled. “Yeah. Mat Barzal, nice to meet you. Good things, I hope?”

“Only the best,” Eliana said, leading them through to the back porch, where her dad was grilling on the patio while Noah was doing sprints up and down the lawn. He almost fell when he spotted Cass and Mat, causing Mat to have to hide a laugh behind his hand. Her dad turned around, setting the spatula down when he saw them. Mat swallowed, sticking out his hand for a shake. “Mat Barzal, sir.”

“Call me Patrick. Good to meet you Mat, go get settled and we should have dinner ready in a few, okay?” Mat nodded. “Noah, pick your jaw up off the floor and go help them with their things, okay?” Noah ducked his head, brushing the dirt off his shorts before jogging over to where Mat and his sisters were on the porch.

“Do I hear my Cassidy?” Cass could hear her mom inside, walking down the hallway with Noah and Mat before she ran into her by her old bedroom. “It’s me, Mom!” Cass said excitedly, hugging her mom. Mat initially went for another handshake, but she shooed it away, embracing him. “We’re huggers in this family,” she said by way of explanation, pulling away after a moment. “Ysabel Cabrera, so nice to finally meet you, Mat.”

Mat smiled. “It’s great to finally meet you too.”

Ysabel pointed down the hall. “Noah’s got bunk beds, so you’ll be with him in there, it’s the last door on the left. Cass, I trust you still can find your room.”

“Yes, mamá,” Cass said, rolling her eyes. “See you in a few, chou.” He kissed her on the cheek, under the watchful eye of her mom, and followed Noah down the hall.

---

Two hour later, Mat and Cass were cuddled together on the living room couch, his arm slung around her as they half-watched reruns of Parks & Rec. “D’you just want to do presents now?” He asked, looking down at her. “Because I know we’ve got plans tomorrow, and I don’t see how it really matters if we’re not going to be together Christmas Day.”

Cass looked up. “Uh, sure, if you want?”

“Meet you back in a minute,” Mat said, hopping off of the couch and disappearing down the hall. Cass rolled her eyes, walking into her room, grabbing the envelope, and returning to the living room. Mat got up when she entered, proudly handing her a surprisingly well-wrapped present.

“You look very pleased with your work,” Cass noted, laughing.

“I watched a Youtube tutorial,” Mat admitted, “but did you know that there’s so much that goes into folding neat corners? It’s practically an art!”

“I’ll take you word for it,” Cass said, handing him his envelope. “Open yours first.”

Mat sat back down, running his thumb through the flap and pulling out a coupon. He looked at it quizzically for a minute. “Beer delivery?”

“Craft beer delivery,” Cass corrected pointedly. “Because I don’t want you to have to resort to Natty Light ever again. I saw your fridge, it’s actually the worst. You need taste, babe.” Mat snorted. “And they deliver to Canada, so you don’t have to worry about missing out on the offseason.”

“I love it, pretty girl,” Mat said, kissing her. “Now open yours.” Cass carefully popped the corners open, unfolding the wrapping paper. My Beloved World - Sonia Sotomayor. “You said once that you really admire her, and I didn’t see it on your bookshelf, so I thought you’d like it.”

“I do, I love it. I love that you remembered even more,” Cass added.

But Mat wasn’t done. “Open it,” he said expectantly.

Confused though she was, Cass opened the cover of the book. “It’s...signed? She said softly, reverently tracing her fingers over the inscription.

“Yeah.” Mat went on, explaining, “I found it in this little bookstore in Brooklyn, and knew I had to get it for you. Knew what it would mean to you.”

“It’s incredible. You’re incredible. I can’t believe you’d do something like that for me.”

Their foreheads touched. “Why wouldn’t I?” Mat whispered. “It’s for you.”

And in that moment, there was nothing anyone could do to take away how happy that made her feel. How happy he made her feel.

#hockey imagine #hockey writing #nhl imagine #mat barzal imagine #hockey smut #mat barzal #nhl smut #nhl writing #nhl imagines #nhl fluff #hockey imagines #hockey fluff #islanders imagines #islanders writing #new york islanders #islanders

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greenbagjosh · 3 years

Text

23 April 2001 - the Böögg burns slowly - James Joyce found in Fluntern

Grüezi Mitenand! Bonjour! Buongiorno! Hi everyone!

Thank you for joining me on the fifth day of the April 2001 journey. Today is Monday the 23rd April 2001.

As I was still under the influence of jetlag, I went to bed early the previous night after dinner. I consequently woke up about 4:40 AM, it was still dark. I did not have any roommates to disturb so I just went to the shower in the hall. The hostel would not serve breakfast until 6 AM, so I left the hostel about 5 AM, walked to the Besenrainstrasse bus stop and took it to Morgental where I changed to the tram line 7 - note, I had my Swiss Pass with me, so I did not have to buy a separate ticket. I picked up a copy of the 20 Minuten newspaper and it had an article about today's upcoming event at 6 PM, the Sechseläuten burning of the Böögg.

What is a Böögg? Since the 19th Century, Sechseläuten has been celebrated every mid-April in Zürich. According to zuerich.com, "Who or What is a Böögg? The word “Böögg” is probably related to the word “bogeyman” and similar names in other languages for this frightening imaginary figure, such as Bullebeiss, Buhmann or Boesman. In Zurich, the Böögg resembles a snowman and symbolizes the winter. The burning of the Böögg serves to drive out the winter and herald the spring." Eventually the Bürkliplatz towards Lake Zürich was too small, so it was moved across the Limmat eastward to the Bellevueplatz, on the northern end of the Neue Zürcher Zeitung headquarters. You might know the Bellevueplatz as the starting point for the Street Parade techno music festivals that start about 1 PM on the second Saturday in August, of which I have been to five in total so far.

So what happens at the Sechseläuten festival? Sechseläuten is a half-day holiday, in the Canton of Zürich, but nowhere specifically else in Switzerland. The Böögg is a textile snowman filled with explosives and is meant to be set alight on a controlled flame, in other words, a bonfire. The most explosives are put in the snowman's head. Then there is a parade, for the guilds of Zürich from Paradeplatz to Bellevueplatz, to put the Böögg on top of the wood for the bonfire. That is the plan for the afternoon.

I took the tram about 5:15 AM to Selnau station and walked from one end to the other. I exited the station, and walked along Sihlstrasse to the intersection of Talstrasse and Löwenstrasse. At the pedestrian crossing there was a crossing stripe with the phrase "rauf mit den o+löhnen" spraypainted, with o+ being the female symbol, I guess a demand for gender pay equality. That was about 5:35 AM, according to the picture screenshot.

About 5:38 AM I found a guild sign, namely the "Zunft Schwamendingen" while walking along Talackerstrasse that leads southeast to Paradeplatz. At Paradeplatz was a big banner for the local tram company VBZ (Verkehrsbetriebe Zürich) "damit am Sechseläuten nur der Böögg den Kopf verliert" (so that on Sechseläuten, only the Böögg loses his head". I remember from September 2000 a similar banner for Knabenschiessen, as I was in Zürich for that festival as well. I took a tram to Bellevueplatz to have a look at the bonfire. It must have been stacked about two stories high. I took a tram line 6 to Bahnhof Enge and then tram 7 to the hostel. It was about 6:55 AM and the hostel started serving breakfast, in the part where in 2004 onwards the checkin desk is located now. With the renovations of December 2001 onwards, the checkin desk and hostel restaurant had swapped sides of the hostel ground floor. I can explain at another time. Breakfast included bread, cheese, cold cut meats, dry cereal, milk, tea, orange juice and coffee. Coffee was from the espresso machine and you could order at least three different kinds of coffee drinks, all for free during breakfast. For tea, you would pick out a bag, and with the espresso machine just select the hot water.

As the Sechseläuten parade would not start until about 2 PM, I decided to make a couple of side trips. One of which to Aarau in the canton of Aargau to the northwest, and to Üetliberg to compare a nice sunny and warm September visit would be to a chilly one in April. I thus took my video camera, my Swiss Pass, and headed to the Besenrainstrasse bus stop, Morgental and on to Zürich HB. I boarded a train to Bern that would stop at Lenzburg AG and Aarau. There was not much in Aarau that I particularly wanted to see, other than the Altstadt and crossing the Aare at Flösserplatz. Little did I know that Aarau is close to the cantonal border with Solothurn, and I did not take time to walk along route 5 to cross, but I made up for it a few days later when changing trains at Olten. Before returning to Zürich, I remember passing by the Pickwick pub. It was, and is still, at Graben 6 close to the Kasinopark. It was not yet 11 AM and I was in no mood for any alcohol at that time, and I needed to return to Zürich.

I took the train back to Zürich via Lenzburg, and changed to the S-10. I may have mentioned the S-10 many times in the past, and it is an anomaly in comparison to the other S-Bahn lines in Zürich. Its rolling stock, instead of the standard 15 kV / 16 2/3 Hz voltage as used by SBB, Deutsche Bahn and ÖBB of Austria, uses the 1,000 V DC, which is long since outdated and is due to be decommissioned by 2023, but is still used by the existing rolling stock. To avoid a conflict of voltages, the pantographs of the S-10 rolling stock are moved from the center of the train but placed on the left side (assuming the direction of travel is towards Zürich HB) with its own catenary. Parts of the tunnel between Zürich HB, Selnau and Binz/Giesshübel allow for opposite side and switchback use by both lines S-4 and S-10, but SBB and VBZ have seen an increase in ridership on S-10 and they are trying to invest in line expansion, so the 1,000 V DC power will need to be decommissioned and only one power source will be supported. The S-18, aka Forchbahn, is another story, which I will not go into at this time.

About 11:25 AM I returned to Zürich HB. The tracks to the S-10 are underground and close to the Bahnhofplatz and Löwenstrasse rail station platforms. In 2001, the platforms were called platform 1 for the S-10 and platform 2 for the S-4. After the opening of the four platform Löwenstrasse station, platforms were renumbered, so platform 1 and platform 2 are now platform 21 and 22, the Löwenstrasse station platforms 31 to 34, and the original S-Bahn station towards the National Museum, are called platforms 41 to 44, when they used to be 21 to 24 when first opened. Sigh, you have to admire the progress that Switzerland went through during 20+ years...... I think I boarded a 11:35 AM S-10 train to Üetliberg that did not terminate at Triemli (had that happen to me in July 1998). I remember passing by the Giesshübel station about 11:41 AM. So far there was no sign of any significant snow, and the skies were mostly clear, though the air was chilly, maybe mid 40s or +4 to +6 Celsius. After the train passed Uitikon, the snow was starting to show up.

By the time I reached Üetliberg, there was about six inches of snow almost everywhere, tracks visible but sleepers covered. It was 11:58 AM when I stepped out of the train, and some of the snow had started to melt, so I had to watch where I stepped. At Üetiberg they still have an axle with a cog, but the Üetlibergbahn S-10 line does not use any cog rail at all, and is billed as one of Switzerland's steepest rail lines that does not use either a cog or traction cable. Prior to 2016 I used to love to ride the fun roller slide where you use a hard V shaped coaster and the rollers have a ten foot decline with maybe three or four bends. I rode it the last time in September 2000, and made a video of it. I think it was dismantled in 2016 or earlier and replaced by a less entertaining set of stationary bicycles or similar.

It was getting close to 1 PM so I headed back down to where I could catch the tram line 7 to the hostel, get a fresh camera battery, and find a good place to view the Sechseläuten Parade. Somehow I walked to just outside the Münsterhof location of Leder Locher, and a band was practicing at 2:25 PM, about thirty people in total, and in Georgian / US Revolutionary period costume, though I could not tell you to what guild they belonged to. I remember there was a little girl about 5 or 6 years old with a Pooh Bear balloon. I walked to the Bahnhofstrasse, somewhere near the Bärengasse and watched the parade for an hour or so. There were many musicians from various guilds, and even the wine barrel making guild had an excellent percussion session. The baker guild threw bread rolls at the crowd.

At 5 PM I walked towards Bürkliplatz to cross eastwards to Bellevueplatz so that I could have a good view of the Böögg. I found some place where I could see the "Neue Zürcher Zeitung" corporate sign. I think I was about a hundred feet away, and could see about fifteen feet of firewood as well as the Böögg itself. I had a nice view, and was getting very excited for 6 PM to ring. By then, the cavalry was circled around the bonfire.

It eventually turned 6 PM. The time had come to start the bonfire. Unfortunately it was getting cloudy and colder, upper 30s, or maybe +3 to +5 C. What is important to note about the bonfire, is how long it takes, from exactly 6 PM to when the Böögg's head explodes with the explosives. If the fire takes less than ten minutes for the Böögg's head to explode, then it will be a good summer in Zürich. Otherwise it may be a chilly one (e.g. 1997 and 2017 from what I remember, temperatures below normal and precipitation above normal). On 23 April 2001, it took a while. Even by 6:10 PM, the flames had not even made it halfway up to the Böögg. Fuel had to be put on the fire as it was going out. About 6:20 PM, the flames made it to the Böögg's feet and explosives started to pop. The Böögg's textile skin started burning and more explosives went off. It is not over until its head completely disappears. The next five minutes would be suspenseful. About 6:27 PM the Böögg was reduced to his head and a wooden frame where his "body" used to be. And right as my video camera's clock said 6:28 PM, I caught an explosion that was about five times the size of the Böögg's head. The crowd, of maybe 10,000 people at the time, cheered, and the head guild's band played a victory song. At 6:29 PM, all that was left on the bonfire, was a wooden frame and where the head used to be, just a charred out 2 by 4. According to the head guild, Sechseläuten 2001 was declared "mission accomplished".

After such excitement, I thought I should do the cable car rotation, namely the Polybahn and Rigiblickbahn, that I remember riding in 1997, 1998 and 2000. Then I would come back by tram lines 5 or 6. From Bellevueplatz, I walked to Central, the lower station of the Polybahn. If you have heard of ETH Zürich, that is the upper station of the Polybahn. My prior ride on it was on Friday the 24th July 1998 with my striped top hat, and I took a selfie about 3:30 PM that day. The Polybahn was still operating at 6:55 PM so I took it up to ETH Zürich, and managed to watch the other car go down to Central. I took the next tram from the ETH/Universitätsspital three stops to Seilbahn Rigiblick, and around 7:10 PM I took the cable car up to the upper station. The Seilbahn Rigiblick is automated kind of like an inclinator at the Luxor hotel in Las Vegas. You pick your station, Goldauer Strasse, Hadlaubstrasse, Germaniastrasse and Rigiblick, then it makes the appropriate stop. It was built so well, that if both cars stopped along the way, you would be at any one of the stops (Goldauer Strasse for one and Germania Strasse for the other). I was at the top station, and there was a bus line 39 to Im Klösterli near the zoo. Interestingly enough, for those who like James Joyce's literature, he is buried close by at the Fluntern cemetery. I thought about eating at the Klösterli restaurant, but I took a pass after looking at the dinner prices so I went back to Niederdorferstrasse by tram line 6, where I know that prices are more reasonable. By then it was about 7:45 PM and the sun was about to set. The tram did pass Toblerplatz, for which there is a famous triangular chocolate bar named after it. Also the trolleybus line 33 terminates there, still does after part of its route was cut back and replaced years later with line 72, also a trolleybus line.

I ended up back at the ETH/Universitätsspital tram stop, took the Polybahn down to Central, and looked for my favorite restaurant to eat supper at. In April 2001 I did not know of Bierhalle Wolf, that I more frequently visit since 2011, so I did not go there then. Instead I went to the Brasserie Johanniter on Niederdorferstrasse 70, had a seat inside, and started off with a liter of Hürlimann Lager. The last time I ate at Johanniter, I had their Graubündner Spätzle with ham, cheese and onions, and luckily it was still on the menu. It was priced 20 Francs. I think 2002 it was withdrawn and the only Spätzle they serve anymore is in the vegetarian style. I had someone share my table, and we had a conversation, not very deep. After paying our respective tabs, we went on our ways. I went back to Bellevueplatz to see what remained, if anything, of the Böögg, and there was still the skeleton that I remember from 6:29 PM. So I went back to the hostel to sleep, as tomorrow would be a travel day to Bern.

Please join me as tomorrow I will see two new cantons, one of which has two half-cantons. Then we will see a new astrological clock similar to the one in Prague, and not too far from the Bundeshaus. See you then.

Auf wiederluege! Au revoir! Arrivederci! Goodbye!

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timelordthirteen · 4 years

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Killing Time 22/35

Detective Weaver/Belle French, Explicit

Summary: A Woven Beauty Law & Order-ish AU. Written for Writer’s Month 2019.

Chapter Summary: Belle is frustrated, tense, and annoyed with the case and with life, but Weaver once again knows how to get her to relax. .

Notes: So this chapter was not just an excuse to write some more hot smut between these two, I swear. Also the plotty bits that I intended for this chapter are now moved to the next one. The number of planned chapters is not changing however. Please note the additional smut tags for light spanking and a little anal play, which I am very nervous about. It just happened and I hope it doesn't turn anyone off. Sorry.

Warnings: Mention of miscarriage, light spanking, anal fingering

[AO3] Previous: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20] [21]

Weaver sighed and pushed the folder away from him, shoving it across the conference table.

Belle sat at her desk across the room, her shoulders hunched as she typed and her eyes moving back and forth between a printout of Nevada adoption law and the laptop screen. She was, what Weaver would call, cranky. Of course, getting the information on Molly Macreedy’s adoption wasn’t as simple as calling up and asking for a favor, one ADA to another. First papers had to be filed locally and approved by a judge, then a request had to be processed through the Washington State AG’s office, which then came back to Belle to be filled with the Clark County District Attorney’s office, requesting, very nicely, one state to another, for them to open a sealed adoption record.

That had necessitated another call to Molly’s adoptive parents to get their signoff on opening a potential can of worms. They were very accommodating, though Weaver felt like every time he reached out, it was ripping the bandage off the wound again, one that he knew would never heal.

Since her meeting with Dr. Hopper, she’d been out of sorts. It was more than the tedious paperwork or the weight of serial murder case. Weaver got the sense that something had happened at her appointment, but he was hesitant to ask. He didn’t have a right to question her about her therapy, especially when he could see that she needed to talk to someone. He only wished she would talk to him as well, let him know what she was thinking and feeling, both about the case, about her own trauma, and about him.

She’d said she loved him.

Yet since that moment, it had felt like there was a ‘but’ waiting, a shoe that hadn’t dropped, and when it did would put them right back where they started. They hadn’t talked about where they stood, about what this continuing period of living together really was in the long run. He knew what he wanted, but it seemed like Belle did not. She’d been through a lot in the last few weeks, they both had, and perhaps she just needed time, though the more time that went by the less sure of that he felt.

He was tired of walking on eggshells, but loathed to stir the pot too much for fear it would push her away.

Belle muttered a curse, drawing Weaver out of his thoughts. He twisted his chair and met her annoyed gaze over the screen of her laptop.

“Interstate legal wrangling not going well?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes and then sat back in her chair, her body sagging against the leather. “It’s going fine, just at the same rate of speed as a glacier.”

“Did they say when they might get back to you?”

She made a face and shrugged. “Records that far back aren’t digital yet, only 2010 and after. Which means some poor county worker gets to dig through boxes in a warehouse. So...if they can find them yet this week, they’ll be reviewed Monday or Tuesday, scanned, and emailed to me by maybe Thursday? If we’re lucky.”

She sighed, heavily, and leaned forward again, closing the email she’d been glaring at. Weaver pushed to his feet and crossed the room, meeting her tired look of annoyance with what he hoped was sympathy. He came around behind her chair as she braced her elbows on the desk and put her head in her hands, her fingers sliding into her hair to hold it back from her face.

“I hate waiting,” she groused.

“I know,” he replied, fighting a smile.

Belle and patience were not things that went together, and that saying something coming from a cop who had been known to bend some rules in the past in order to speed up an investigation. He put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

“There’s plenty to do in the meantime,” he continued, gently pressing at the lump of muscle connecting her neck and back. “We should find out if any of the other victims were adopted, besides Molly and Nick, just in case that’s the connection we’ve been missing.”

She exhaled and bent her head further forward, encouraging his hands to work their way further up the tension in her neck. “Yeah.”

They stayed like that for a few minutes, with her leaning on the desk and him kneading at her sore muscles, until he abruptly stopped. She made an unhappy sound and threw a look at him as he stepped away.

“I’ll happily keep going,” he said, smirking, “but at home. It’s half six already.”

Belle frowned and glanced down at her laptop screen, noting the time in the bottom corner. “Shit.”

He picked up his leather jacket from its customary spot, draped over the arm of her sofa, and turned back to her. “Frank’s tonight?” She tilted her head, already imagining the satisfying taste of the bacon chicken burger that was her usual order. “Split some mozz sticks?”

Weaver’s eyebrows lifted. “Split? Or I get two, and you get the remaining eight?”

She crumpled an extraneous piece of paper and tossed the wad at him before pushing back from her desk. He caught the paper easily, laughing, and shoved it in his pocket, to be deposited in the trash can on their way out.

Belle blew out a breath and closed the lid of her laptop.

They ate dinner at the counter in the kitchen while she searched county and state foster records for the names of the victims, but found nothing. Adoption records would take more effort, paperwork, and time. While it didn’t mean that wasn’t the connection between the victims, it was nonetheless another disappointment. It felt like the case was stalling, that the momentum they had after capturing Jack Branson was losing the battle with friction.

After dinner, she moved to the living room, and sat on the floor in front of the sofa with her laptop on the coffee table and papers spread out around her. She rolled her head to the side, frowning when it didn’t crack as she had hoped, and leaned back against the front of the sofa. Sitting on the floor had done her no favors. Ever since her appointment with Dr. Hopper there had been a vague tension in her body that if she just moved or twisted the right way would pop and bring sweet relief. Unfortunately, she knew that wasn’t the case.

Talking to Archie had been both cathartic and nerve wracking. She was glad she had told him about the miscarriage, and that someone other than Ian and her knew, but at the same time she wasn’t sure what kind of rabbit hole that would lead her down. There was no doubt that Archie would bring it up at her next session, which she hadn’t actually confirmed yet, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for it. Revisiting that old wound, even in a small way, had taken a toll on her. She wanted to tell Weaver about it, yet held back. If she brought it up, he would want to talk about it, the same as Archie did, and all she wanted was to shove it down deep and pretend it never happened.

Obviously, that had been working well for her the last two years.

Weaver finished cleaning up in the kitchen, and sat down on the couch behind Belle.

“Still no luck, huh.”

“Nope.” She sighed, ignoring his question, and tipped her head back, resting it on the sofa cushion. “So about keeping that shoulder rub going...?”

He smiled and waited until she scooted forward before he moved over and settled behind her. Belle turned off the TV, which had been left on after the six o’clock news was over, and let her head fall forward as he laid his hands over the tops of her shoulders. His thumbs ran along the line of her neck, pressing harder on the way up than on the way back down, fanning out over muscles that feel as though they’ve been cramped for hours. He felt an unnatural hardness at the junction of her neck and shoulders, and worked his fingers into it in slow circles with steady pressure.

She breathed out and her head bobbed forward in relaxation when his fingers slid through her hair, nails scraping deliciously over her scalp, before trailing back down her neck.

"You're too good at this," she said as he eased her further forward, kneading the inside edge of her trapezius muscle.

His palms pushed gently, rubbing at the hidden tension. "And you're too tense.”

She exhaled again. “Yeah, must have slept wrong or something.”

He let out a grunting sound that was somehow both disbelief and agreement, in that order. It made her chastise herself that she still hadn’t brought up what she’d told Archie, and that she hadn’t called to make another appointment.

Weaver reached down, trying to find the spot at the base of her shoulder blade that always seemed to knot up, but the angle from the couch was awkward and there wasn’t enough space between her and the sofa to make it work.

He pulled his hands away and sat back. “Up.”

She frowned over her shoulder at him, and he repeated the command as he pushed to his feet.

“Where are you going?” she asked, scrambling to her feet.

He paused and turned around in the doorway of the bedroom, smirking, and she rolled her eyes even as she stood and followed after him. He coaxed her out of the t-shirt she’d changed into after they arrived home, pulling up over her head to reveal the lace bralette underneath. His tongue pushed at his bottom lip when she undid the clasp and let it fall to the floor, followed by shoving her yoga pants down over her hips.

“You want me on the bed?” she asked with a cheeky quirk of her lips.

Weaver rolled his eyes, which made her giggle as she stretched out over the duvet, and moved to open the bedside table where a small bottle of her preferred body lotion was stashed. He popped it open, catching a whiff of vanilla and jasmine, and applied some to his palms, rubbing them together to warm it up before he touched her.

He knelt with one knee on the bed and began to slowly rub her back from shoulders to waist, up and down, slicking up her skin until it was soft and slippery. She groaned as his thumbs ran up her spine in a steady, even pressure that rolled over the muscles along her vertebrae. His fingers pressed against the prominent cliffs of her shoulder blades, jutting out as she rested her head on her bent elbows. Finally, he found the knot he’d been seeking earlier and kneaded it carefully, feeling the cramp in the tissue eventually give way and push a deep sigh from her lips.

His hands glided along her curves, easing away the tension in long, slow strokes, drawing out more little sounds. She shifted as he moved over the outside of her hips, massaging down the back of her thighs and calves, spanning them with both of his hands at the same time. She let out another low moan as he worked his way back up from her feet, and shifted her legs apart to work his thumbs into the muscles of her inner thighs.

He swept his fingers over her skin again and again, inching closer to the edge of her panties, and she let out a small whimper. The sound made his cock twitch, and he bit back a groan.

"So do I pay extra for you to keep going?" Belle asked, grinning as she stretched her legs against the bed, spreading them slightly.

Weaver’s hands moved slowly up the backs of her thighs, kneading the flesh gently and rubbing the last of the lotion in as she lifted her head and looked over her shoulder at him. He stopped below the curve of her backside, feeling the heat emanating from between her legs as she raised her hips.

He licked his lips. “Maybe, but I have some very flexible terms.”

His fingers slowly trailed up between her legs, lightly rubbing her there, her folds already swollen and wet beneath her underwear. She parted her legs a little more, and he pressed and teased her opening with his fingertips. Slipping under the inner elastic, he pushed a finger into her, sliding all the way into the knuckle, loving the way she squirmed and moaned, her eyes squeezing shut.

"This part of the massage too?” She tried to push back against him, but he pulled his fingers away to start tugging her panties off.

He tossed them aside with a grin, and leaned over her, pressing kisses up along her spine as his hand worked its way back between her legs. “I’m very thorough.”

Her eyebrow arched as she clenched around his finger, her hips pitching up off the bed. "Yes you are, Detect - oh -”

A second finger pushed inside her, and she heard the shuffling sound of his belt being undone, followed by the rasp of his zipper.

"You’re pretty tense here too, Counselor," he says, his voice low.

She can sense the smirk on his face just from the low, teasing tone of his voice, and she shivers with pleasure. Shifting up to her knees, she backed up against him, her bare ass rubbing against the front of his boxers and the hard ridge of his cock.

"Think you can rub that out too?" She smiled and turned her face to the side as he shook his head.

His hips jutted forward as she pressed against him, and he let out a light chuckle as he stopped touching her just long enough to remove his clothes. “Naughty.”

She hummed in agreement, smiling into the pillow as he returned to stroke her slowly. His cock slid between her legs, bumping against her clit and drawing out a shudder and a soft sound. Her legs spread further, her hips rocking back as he teased her. Her back and shoulders felt much better, the tension in them eased, but a new ache was building elsewhere each time he hit her swollen nub.

Weaver’s hands grabbed her roughly, holding her by the hips to still her movement. She let out a frustrated growl which slipped into a sharp gasp as he brought his palm down on her backside. He rubbed the spot, flushed pink and warm, and then continued up her back, tracing the same paths he had earlier when he soothed her muscles. She groaned and arched her back as she tried to push back against him at the same time, the contrast between the looseness of where he touched her and the burn inside where she wanted him made her head spin.

He drew his hands back, her skin silky from the lotion, and gave her another light spank. Her fingers curled against the sheets, nails scraping lightly as she bit her lip. The sting was a pleasant, prickly heat, a sensation she had felt in a long time. A part of her wanted to urge him to keep going, until she was shaking and crying out for him, but there was so much still between them that held her back even now.

He seemed to know that was all she could handle, and a moment later her legs were pushed apart by his knee, spreading her wide. She tensed at the first push of his cock, the head just breaching her entrance, teasing her with the idea of being stretched and fucked.

"Ian..."

A spark ran through him at the sound of his name, and he inched forward, thrusting into her in one long, slow stroke. She gasped when he hit the end of her and started to draw back, her breath catching on another gasp before he pushed back into her hard. Everything was tight and hot, and he groaned as she started rocking her hips back against him, begging him to move.

His thumbs rubbed little soothing circles on her lower back as he started a slow, steady rhythm, filling the air with the wet sound of their bodies moving together with the backdrop of the music from the other room. He drew his fingers down, brushing over the cleft of her buttocks, and she squirmed, flexing her pussy around his cock. She claws at the sheets as his does it again, panting and pushing back against him.

"I could..." he started to say, circling her ring with his fingertip. "If you want..."

He couldn’t complete the thought, the feeling of her fluttering around his length almost too much to bear.

"Yeah," she squeaked, with a thrust of her hips against his hand, against his cock. "Please."

He pulled out of her and leaned to the side, fumbling with the drawer on the nightstand to retrieve a small bottle of lube. She tried to slow her breathing, but even the sound of the lid snapping open had her pulse thrumming as she stayed there, bent over on the bed with her arse in the air. The bed shifted as he moved, and then there was a warm slickness between her cheeks, and his fingertip spreading it over her. She tried not to move, to fight the urge to force her hips back as he worked his finger inside with achingly slowness. Pressure gave way to pain which gave way to a fullness she hadn’t experienced in so long, and she let out a long, low moan.

Weaver was being as gentle as possible, waiting after each small bit of his finger slipped inside her arse for the little impatient wiggle that told him she was ready for more. Finally, when it was fully in, he turned it carefully, pulling back and stretching her before he pulled it back part way.

"Okay?" His voice was strained and he clenched his jaw at the tight, warm feeling of her flexing around his finger.

"Yeah," she whispered.

He took his cock in his free hand and eased himself back inside her pussy, groaning as his hips met hers.

"Fuck," he groaned, thrusting once to test the waters. “Tell me."

Belle took a breath, exhaling it slowly as he started to move, the rhythm between his finger and his cock just disparate enough that she couldn’t do anything except let herself feel everything that was happening.

“Belle -”

"Yeah,” she answered quickly. “Good, really good."

She started working her hips harder, encouraging him as he slid his finger almost all the way out of her ass, and his cock out of her pussy, only to push them back in, a little bit harder each time. He held onto her hip with his other hand trying to steady himself as his eyes rolled back, feeling his finger press through her inner walls, creating another sensation along his length.

Belle pushed up on her hands, and gasped out a shaky curse. She pushed her hips up against him, and he thrust harder into her, a warm rush of pleasure washing over her from head to toe. She tightened around him, crying out with each movement, her legs and arms beginning to quiver as the tension grew in her core.

"Oh fuck..."

The sound of her voice was louder than expected, and she bit her lip as she slammed her hips back against him. The pressure of his finger amplified the friction from his cock, letting her feel every inch of him, and every time he bottomed out inside her, a little squealing gasp was forced out of her. Full and stretched, she tried to keep up with his movements, but then her arms gave, and she turned her head to the side, resting it on her folded arms as he fucked her to the threshold of a blinding orgasm.

The twinges along his cock was driving him spare, and through gritted teeth he managed to slip his free hand around her hip and press two fingers against her clit. She came with some kind of groan and a bit of a squeal, a delicious sound he’d never heard her make before, but knew he’d love to hear again. Bracing on the bed, he pulled his finger out of her arse as he thrust one more time and came buried inside her, his thrusts slowing along with the twitch of her inner muscles.

They collapsed together on the bed, quiet save for hasty breaths and the lingering thrum of his heart in his ears.

"Damn," she sighed.

He smiled and kissed her shoulder. “Yeah.”

They cleaned themselves up, and then moved back to the bed in silence. He sensed there was something Belle wasn’t saying. She stretched out on her side, facing away from him, and he slipped into the bed, shifting until he was right behind her without touching her body with his. It felt much the same as it had that first night, when she’d woken up in a fit, scared of every shadow. She’d needed him close then, but he didn’t know what she wanted now.

“I told Archie,” she said quietly, “about the miscarriage.”

He felt the breath rush out of him and his throat tense, but at the same time there was relief in knowing what had been bothering her for the last few days. She moved, inching back towards him, and he reached out to pull her against his chest. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head and felt her squeeze his arm where it lay around her torso.

“Okay,” was all he could manage.

Belle swallowed. “Yeah?”

He nodded, his face rubbing against her hair. “S’good. Right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

Weaver’s arm tightened around her, and she felt his lips against her neck and then her bare shoulder. She’d managed to say the words twice in one week, and, strangely, it seemed to help. Perhaps tomorrow she’d call Archie and see if he was available on Tuesday. Maybe it was the intensity of the sex or the fact that she’d finally told Weaver what had been bothering her, but her body felt more relaxed than it had in months. As she breathed out, it felt like something more than just air left with it, something that maybe she didn't need to keep inside anymore.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #woven beauty #woven beauty fic #my woven beauty fic #fic #killing time

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avaantares · 4 years

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My New Ventilated Social-Distancing Movie Theatre

(or, how I bought a 2020-proof social life for less than $100)

So the USA is (still) a hot mess in terms of pandemic response. Because both my father and I are at increased risk for complications from COVID-19, and my sister and I have to work together in person to run our workshops, my entire family has been in a state of self-quarantine for six months straight (with no end in sight). But it’s hard being in constant isolation, so the four households that comprise my local family have been doing weekly outdoor gatherings -- with plenty of hand sanitizer and safely-spaced tables -- so we can see each other and socialize at a distance. However, that’s only feasible when the weather cooperates.

I’ve also really missed watching movies with friends, which prior to the pandemic had been a regular activity. I have a 70-year-old tripod screen I inherited from my grandfather and a projector I use for running panels at conventions, so we’ve watched occasional DVDs outdoors, but we could only do that on evenings without wind (which could tear the brittle screen) or rain (which would damage the projector), and we have to be careful not to have the sound too loud because it might disturb the neighbors.

A couple weeks ago, when our city delayed reopening again due to rising COVID-19 case numbers, I decided to convert half of my garage into an outdoor movie theatre. It turned out pretty well, and it only cost about what I would spend on movie tickets in an average year (and since I’m not going to any movies in 2020, it’s pretty much a wash). I’m sharing the details in case it gives anyone else ideas for making a health-conscious social hangout!

Obviously YMMV, and in areas with higher case numbers (hi, FL & AZ), this still might be too much contact. Be safe and follow official recommendations to prevent viral spread, folks!

The Space

Before I settled on the garage, I considered building a movie space under a tent canopy (nixed because they’re almost impossible to anchor through Midwest storm winds) or carport kit (too expensive and high-maintenance for me), so there are definitely other options depending on where you live, your typical weather, and what space you have available!

My garage has an unusual layout that allows for better-than-average ventilation. When it was first built, it was a 2 1/2-car garage with the doors facing the street and windows on the side. About 40 years later, the owners decided to move the driveway to the other side of the house, so they built a second garage attached to the drive-door side and knocked out an end wall to put in a new overhead door. This means that by square footage, the garage could hold four cars, but the way the drive doors are situated, it’s a divided two-car garage with a bunch of extra space at the far end. The two sides are connected by one of the original overhead doors, which means that three of the four walls have openings that allow for air movement. (More on that below.)

Normally there’s a car in each side of the garage, but I decided I was willing to park outside all summer for the sake of having a social life. Over the course of a week, I emptied and thoroughly cleaned the half of the garage that has the windows.

Air Flow

Constant fresh air flow is critical to flushing aerosolized particles that can spread the virus, so in order to make a safe indoor space, I had to simulate outdoor air movement. I opened all three overhead doors and both windows, then placed several fans to draw air through the building: One in each window, one along the side wall, and a box fan in the connecting door between the two sides of the garage to pull more air in from the outside. To make sure air was actually moving through the building and not just circulating within it, I turned on all the fans while I was sweeping the (very dusty) floor and walls, and adjusted the fan angles until the dust blew straight out the overhead door, rather hanging in the air or gathering in the corners. (Experts recommend that to prevent virus transmission, indoor spaces should have 100% air turnover every 10 minutes; obviously I have no way of testing that in a garage, but there is a constant light breeze through the building and stuff seems to be blowing out, so I feel pretty good about it.)

Projection Setup

I already had the projector and DVD player (I took the one out of my living room, since I usually just watch DVDs on my game console anyway), but I wanted a larger wall-mounted screen, since my grandfather’s 1950s screen was designed for showing vacation slides in a living room, not wide-screen films. Hanging fabric screens are very cheap, but I opted for a 120″ retractable screen so it would stay clean in the dusty garage. I also have an old set of monitor speakers that provide nice stereo sound.

Seating

The beauty of setting up in a garage is that it’s basically outdoors, so you can use lawn furniture or bean bags or old chairs you pulled out of someone’s trash (I do this regularly; it’s how I got my entire patio set). Measuring out at least 6 feet between each table and staggering their positions so nobody was directly downwind of another table, I set up all the card tables and folding tables I owned, and put a pair of chairs by each one so that couples from the same household could share a table but not be in close contact with any other groups. I put my largest folding table (which was also salvaged from the trash -- seriously, it’s the best way to get stuff!) against the wall right by the open door to serve as a snack table, so it’s on the opposite wall from the seating and nobody would be breathing on the food. I covered all the tables with decorative heavy-duty vinyl tablecloths (mostly for sanitation purposes, because those tables have been sitting out in my garage and I know I’ve had raccoons and opossums out there -- not to mention the colony of bats that lives in the loft off the back of the garage).

This setup can seat up to eight people, and even provides a place for serving food. (I put pump bottles of hand sanitizer on each table and on the food table, and people wear face masks when they’re loading up their plates, so there’s minimal contamination risk there.)

Total Cost

My out-of-pocket cost for this whole project was only about $83, though that’s because I already had a lot of stuff lying around. Here’s a more complete breakdown:

Fans: I already owned the box fan ($25 new) and a couple other fans that I’d picked up super cheap at garage sales ($5 or so), because my house is old and the HVAC is not very efficient. The only new fan I bought for this project was a refurbished air circulator from Amazon ($14), because I needed a small but high-velocity fan to fit in a window.

Projection setup: The only new thing I bought was the screen, which was $65 including shipping (though non-retractable fabric screens start around $10-15, so if you’re on a budget you can get one very cheap). I bought the projector used on eBay about eight years ago. I think I paid around $40 for it then, but prices have come down since; I’ve seen discount projectors for as low as $20. The DVD player is a cheapo region free model, which I got a decade ago for maybe $30. The speakers were secondhand; I’ve also used an old set of external PC speakers ($10 from Goodwill) when running video off my laptop, and they worked well enough in the indoor space.

Seating: Almost all the outdoor furniture I own came from other people’s trash, so I didn’t pay anything for it! Any kind of seating or tables will work, though. I did invest about $4 for new tablecloths, which I got on seasonal clearance.

Bonus Perks

I’ve discovered that the garage walls block a LOT of light and sound unless you’re standing directly outside the drive doors, so we can watch movies for half the night or stay up late chatting and we aren’t disturbing the neighbors! We couldn’t run movies out on the patio late at night because the sound would carry to neighboring houses.

Also, when we’re watching a film in the evening, we get to watch my bats fly through the garage on their way to and from dinner! (Which might be an annoyance to the bats if we were out there all the time, but we try to keep our volume low and we’re only out there about once a week, so I don’t think we’re disturbing them too much.) Bats are protected in my state, as some of the native species are critically endangered, and we try to encourage nesting as they’re essential to pest insect control. I love watching them fly around!

The setup also works well for video games. A local friend and I had been playing online, late at night because it was the only time we could get enough bandwidth to maintain connection (the ISP in my area is not super reliable), but now we can sit on opposite sides of the garage and play local co-op with no lag:

So, in summary, my “movie theatre” is by no means a luxurious setup, but it was cheap :) and it’s a great way for my small pandemic social bubble to get together and chat, have a movie night, or play games without risking being in a closed room together.

#social distancing #home theatre #my rock star life #2020

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shyvioletcat · 5 years

Note

Fireman AU where Aelin's room actually gets broken into (but obviously she handles it like a badass) But rowan offers her to stay (mostly out of guilt) until the doors Really fixed? 👀

This ask was absolutely perfect. Exactly what I needed.

Masterlist here

~~~~~

Aelin cursed the lack of elevator for the the millionth time. Coming home late after dinner with Aedion and Lysandra and then having climb six flights of stairs to reach her apartment was torture.

Aelin literally pulled herself up the last few steps by gripping the rail but she stopped dead on the landing. The padlock on her door wasn’t there. It was in pieces on the ground.

Her heart started thundering in her chest and she blindly felt around for the small can of deodorant she kept in her handbag. The door was only opened a crack, whoever had broken in could still be inside, making it look like nothing was amiss.

As quietly as she could Aelin crept towards her door and pushed the door open. The lights were off in the apartment and it was quiet until...

There was someone in her bedroom.

Shouldering her bag Aelin popped the lid the deodorant and gave it a quick shake. Then she was moving.

The person inside her room was was dressed in a black hoodie and was going through the contents on top of her chest of drawers. Her jewellery box and keepsakes.

“Hey!” Aelin yelled.

The person whirled and Aelin was there a moment later spraying the deodorant in their face. They yelped in pain and crashed back into the drawers, setting them rattling. They tried to barge past her but Aelin dealt out a quick jab and a left hook that had them dropping to the ground groaning in pain.

Just then the light light flicked on. Aelin turned around to see Rowan standing in her bedroom doorway.

“Are you okay?”

~~~~~

Rowan had been on his way to get his spare charger from the car when he saw that Aelin’s door was open, the padlock in pieces. He’d run in and followed the noises to the bedroom where he found Aelin standing over a groaning man on the floor.

“Are you okay?” He asked. She looked it, the only person who seemed to be hurt was the man on the ground.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Aelin said as she breathed heavily.

They both looked down and the intruder. He was rubbing furiously at his eyes and had the other hand on his stomach. He was a fair bit bigger than Aelin, Rowan was surprised she had taken him down so easily.

Aelin pulled the bag off her shoulder and pulled out her phone. Rowan kept an eye on the man on the floor.

“Hey Chaol. You on duty?” Aelin said. “Good. Someone broke into my apartment.”

~~~~~

It took about 15 minutes for Chaol to arrive with a small team of police officers. They’d shut the burglar in her bedroom while they waited, Rowan holding the door shut. Aelin had downed about four glasses on water, one after the other, in an attempt to cool her adrenaline rush. Hadn’t done much to help, except that she now really needed to pee.

“I assume you want to press charges?” Chaol had come into the kitchen.

“Yep,” Aelin replied. “Will he press charges against me?”

“If he does it will most likely come to nothing. Seeming as we’ve found a bunch of your things stashed in his bag and pockets, and you’ve left no lasting damage,” Chaol explained. “Why is your door locked with a padlock and that flimsy sliding lock? One good push and anyone could get in.”

Aelin glared daggers in Rowan’s direction. He was giving a statement to another police officer, arms folded across his chest.

“That idiot over there broke my door thinking he was being a hero,” Aelin said.

“Rowan? We’ve crossed paths working. Firefighter right?”

Aelin nodded in response to Chaol’s questions. Chaol just looked confused.

“I’ll explain next time I see you. Right now I’d like to go to bed,” Aelin said.

Chaol nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll get everyone out as soon as I can. And call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” Aelin said.

She waited in her kitchen until everyone left. Rowan was the last. He lingered for a moment and looked like he was about to say something. Aelin ignored him and made her way to the bathroom, effectively dismissing him. She was too tired and too angry to have it out with him right now. So she opted for a shower instead.

~~~~~

Rowan felt terrible. He’d never even contemplated that Aelin’s apartment would actually be broken into. Just some vague threat that he never expected to happe. He had glanced at the sliding lock that he’d installed on the inside of the door.

It was a shocking job.

If he lent on the door hard enough he’d probably be able to get it open. When he had first installed it was fine, but his half assed attempt at installing it meant it had lasted barely a week.

He’d wanted to tell Aelin he was sorry. But she’d ignored him so he left instead closing the door behind him.

Rowan went to his car to get his charger, his legs burning as he climbed back up the stairs. When he got back to Aelin’s door he stopped. He knew what he had to do.

~~~~~

Aelin had just finished making a cup of tea when she heard a knock on her door, the door threatening to open from the force of it, even though it wasn’t a particular hard knock. Leaving the cup of tea on kitchen bench Aelin padded over to the door and opened it, dressed in a t-shirt, leggings and socks.

Rowan stood there, in his pyjamas, pillow and blanket in hand. He looked ready for a sleepover.

“I’m so sorry Aelin,” he said. “I didn’t think someone would actually break in. I’ll stay until I get the door fixed. No matter how long it takes. I’ve got this weekend off so I can dedicate two whole days to getting it sorted. I’m just so sorry.”

Aelin him in the face, at the sincerity there. “You’re just doing this because you feel guilty.”

“Yeah, that’s true. But I really should have been trying harder,” Rowan said and then shrugged.

Aelin just moved aside and let him in. He went straight to the couch and dropped his blanket and pillow there.

“I just made a cup of tea. Would you like one?” Aelin asked.

“Sure,” Rowan said as he followed her to the kitchen. “How did you manage to drop that guy anyway?”

Aelin pulled a mug from the cupboard. “10 years of kickboxing.”

Rowan let out a low whistle. Aelin smiled a little.

“I guess I’m lucky you never turned those skills on me considering the situation.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’ve thought about it. Especially when you came bursting in that first night,” Aelin said and laughed when Rowan’s face fell a little. “Just keep on my good side now and you won’t have to worry.”

“How exactly do a stay on your good side, Aelin?” Rowan took the mug Aelin offered.

Aelin gave Rowan a wink over the rim of her own mug. “I’ll let you know.”

~~~~~

Tags: @tangledraysofsunshine @nalgenewhore @highqueenofelfhame @galyxsy @fucking-winchester-trash @literary-licorice @http-itsrebecca @highladyofthesith @aelinfire-bringer @soup-that-is-too-hawt @sleep-and-books @3am-reading @average-girl-at-best @but-she-was-aelin-galathynius @rowaelinforeverworld @alifletcher2012 @westofmoon @tswaney17 @mydarlingfireheart

#and then all of a sudden they were roomates #well kind of 😉#firefighter au #striking matches #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin #throne of glass fanfiction

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